Behind her, she heard Mokko let out a whoop that he quickly tried to muffle. Lucy's jar made a cheerful bubbling sound.

The judge continued down the line. There was a female doe beastkin at station four, whose fish plating earned a special commendation.

At station five, the head judge shook her head. "You need another retest, Alphonse. Your techinque is beautiful, but your presentation leaves much to be desired."

And finally, station six.

"Your moon cakes," the judge said to Millie, "were always beautiful. That was never in question. What we needed from you was proof that beauty wasn't just decorative—that it was built on a foundation of solid technique and balanced flavor."

Millie stood perfectly still, her white ears perked forward.

"Your revised filling demonstrates that you listened to our feedback. The addition of salt and vanilla transformed a one-note dessert into something complex and interesting. The balance is now there. The beauty now reveals depth rather than hiding simplicity."

The judge smiled. "You have passed your evaluation. Welcome to the Culinary Guild of Lumeria."

Millie's ears dropped slightly—relief making her whole body sag for just a moment before she straightened again, crimson eyes bright.

They'd both passed.

+

The testing hall emptied slowly. The two candidates who hadn't passed left quietly, their faces set in determination—they'd try again. The three who had passed lingered, accepting congratulations from the judges, receiving their official documentation.

Marron held her certification papers like they might disappear if she loosened her grip. Her name, written in official Guild script. Marron Louvel, Certified Chef, Culinary Guild (Lumeria Chapter.)

Below it, her scores:

Taste: 9/10

Technique: 9/10

Presentation: 8/10

Overall: PASS

"You did it," Mokko said, his voice thick with emotion. "I knew you would, but—you really did it."

Lucy was bubbling so enthusiastically she was practically fizzing, hearts and stars forming and dissolving in rapid succession.

"I did it," Marron repeated, testing the words. They felt strange and wonderful in her mouth. "I actually did it."

"Marron."

She turned. Millie was walking toward her, her own certification papers clutched in one hand, her painted ceramic plate in the other.

For a moment, they just looked at each other—two failed candidates who'd become friends, who'd taught each other, who'd competed and collaborated and both come out the other side successful.

Millie's smile was genuine, wide, and full of relief. "We did it."

"We did," Marron agreed.

They stood there grinning at each other like idiots until Mokko cleared his throat pointedly.

"So," he said, "are we going to celebrate, or are you two just going to stand here smiling all night?"

"Celebrate," Millie said immediately. "There's a place in the street market—they make these incredible fried dumplings, and the owner keeps a bottle of plum wine for special occasions. My treat."

"Your treat?" Marron raised an eyebrow.

"You bought my moon cakes. Multiple times. It's only fair."

"I was going to buy them anyway. They're delicious."

"And now you can buy them knowing they're made by a certified Lumerian chef." Millie's ears twitched with amusement. "That has to increase the value."

Marron laughed—a real laugh, the kind that came from deep in her belly and made her eyes water. "Fine. Dumplings and plum wine it is. But I'm buying the second round."

"Deal."

They walked out of the Guild together—Marron and Millie, Mokko and Lucy1, two carts rolling side by side through the pristine halls. The building that had seemed so intimidating three days ago now felt... different. Still impressive, still beautiful, but no longer quite so cold.

She'd earned her place here. Not by abandoning who she was, but by learning to show it better. By braiding truth and beauty together instead of choosing between them.

As they stepped out into the warm evening air, the street market glowing below them like a constellation, Marron felt something settle in her chest.

Not completion—she wasn't done learning, wasn't done growing.

But belonging. Finally, after so long running on empty, after so many years of bare minimum and self-protection, she belonged somewhere again.

And this time, she'd chosen it. Not because it was safe or easy or expected, but because it was hers.

+

The dumpling vendor was a cheerful halfling woman with flour permanently dusted in her hair and laugh lines around her eyes. When she saw Millie approaching with Marron in tow, her face lit up.

"Millie! And—oh! You're the soup girl!" She waved them over enthusiastically. "I heard you both passed! The whole market's been talking about it."

"News travels fast," Marron said, surprised.

"Street market's like a family," the vendor said, already pulling out plates. "We keep track of our own. Dumplings on the house tonight—both of you. And—" She reached under her cart and produced a bottle of amber liquid that caught the lamplight. "The good plum wine. This calls for celebration."

Marron started to protest, but Millie put a hand on her arm. "Just say thank you. Trust me."

"Thank you," Marron said, feeling warmth spread through her chest that had nothing to do with wine.

They found a spot at one of the communal tables that dotted the market—long wooden benches where strangers became friends over shared food. The dumplings arrived moments later, golden and crispy, steam rising from their pleated tops. The plum wine was sweet and potent, sliding down smooth and leaving a pleasant burn.

"To passing," Millie said, raising her cup.

"To passing," Marron echoed, and they drank.

Around them, the market hummed with evening energy. Vendors were hitting their stride—the dinner rush bringing families and couples and solo diners looking for something good and honest. The egg bread cart was doing brisk business. The cheese pull station had a line. Music drifted from somewhere, a fiddle playing something quick and joyful.

As they ate, other vendors stopped by their table. A noodle cart owner with his carved chopsticks, the tea vendor with complimentary cups of jasmine tea, even the grumpy-looking dwarf who ran the spice stall brought them a small packet of expensive saffron threads "for good luck."

"Are people always this friendly?" Marron asked Millie, overwhelmed by the generosity.

"If you're one of us, yes." Millie's voice was warm but had an edge to it. "People from the restaurant district can be... less kind to street vendors. They think we're not 'real' chefs because we work from carts instead of pristine kitchens. Because our food is affordable instead of exclusive."

"That's stupid."

"It is. But it's how things are." Millie shrugged. "The Guild certification helps, though. Harder for them to dismiss us when we have the same credentials they do."

I really like M names huh hahahadsdgsdg

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