[Thursday Afternoon. Maestra Vivienne's Candy-Making Class]

As soon as Marron opened the classroom door, the smell of caramelized sugar hit her in the face. Eight more students stood at their stations, each one with gleaming copper pots. They had their measuring tools and nervous energy on display, too. She felt thet same way, because they were going to be working with sugar.

Delicate and unforgiving.

Maestra Vivienne stood at the front, her silver-white hair catching the afternoon light streaming through the windows. She looked at each student in turn. Her smile was warm, but her eyes had a serious glint in them.

"Before we begin," she said, her accent lending music to the words, "I want you to understand something fundamental about candy-making."

She picked up a small white marshmallow from the demonstration table. It was a perfectly formed square, covered in powdered sugar.

"This is one of the simplest candies you can make. Sugar, water, gelatin, vanilla. Four ingredients. Basic technique." She held it up to the light. "And it is one of the hardest things you will ever create."

The students exchanged nervous glances.

"In pastry, in elaborate desserts, you can hide imperfections," Vivienne continued. "A crack in your cake? Cover it with frosting. Overcooked your custard slightly? Mask it with fruit. But in candy-making—" She gestured to the marshmallow. "—there is nowhere to hide. The simplest treats expose every mistake. Every moment of impatience. Every failure of technique."

She set the marshmallow down gently.

"This is why mastering candy-making makes you a better chef overall. It teaches precision. Control. Humility." Her smile was kind but knowing. "It teaches you that foundation is everything. If your foundation is sound—if you understand heat, timing, chemistry—then your future as candy-makers will be bright. But you cannot skip steps. You cannot rush. The sugar will know, and it will punish you."

Marron felt her stomach tighten. She'd never made marshmallows from scratch. The closest she'd come was buying them pre-made at a market stall back on Earth, roasting them over a fire at Kai's insistence.

Four ingredients. Should be simple.

But nothing that matters is ever simple.

"Today," Vivienne announced, "we make marshmallows. By the end of class, each of you will have created a batch. Some will be perfect. Some will be disasters. Both outcomes teach us something valuable."

She began her demonstration, her movements precise and economical.

"First, we bloom the gelatin in cold water. While it sits, we make our sugar syrup—sugar, corn syrup, water, salt. The mixture must reach exactly 240 degrees. Not 235. Not 245. Exactly 240."

Marron watched carefully, mentally taking notes.

"When the syrup reaches temperature, we add it to the bloomed gelatin while whipping constantly. The mixture will become thick, glossy, marshmallow cream. We add vanilla, continue whipping until it holds stiff peaks, then pour into prepared pans."

Vivienne's demonstration marshmallow cream was perfect—white, fluffy, holding shape like clouds given structure.

"Simple," she said with a slight smile. "Now you try."

Marron's hands were steady as she measured out her ingredients, but her mind was racing.

240 degrees exactly. No room for error. Sugar doesn't forgive.

She bloomed her gelatin in the bowl of her stand mixer—the Guild classrooms were well-equipped, thankfully. Then she turned her attention to the copper pot.

Sugar, corn syrup, water, salt. The mixture went in, white and grainy.

She set it over medium heat and clipped a candy thermometer to the side.

And watched.

The sugar dissolved slowly, the mixture going from opaque to clear. Steam began to rise. Small bubbles formed.

Marron noticed something odd.

The pot was heating more slowly than the other students' pots around her. While their thermometers were already climbing past 200 degrees, hers was only at 180.

Is it broken? Did I do something wrong?

She adjusted the heat up slightly, anxiety creeping in.

But then—as the temperature reached 200—something changed.

The pot seemed to settle into the heat. The temperature began climbing at a steady, even pace. Not too fast, not too slow. Just... consistent.

210 degrees.

220 degrees.

Marron watched the thermometer, her hand ready to pull the pot off the heat the moment it hit 240.

230 degrees.

235 degrees.

Around her, other students were panicking. Someone's syrup had crystallized. Another had let it go too far, the mixture turning amber when it should have stayed clear.

238 degrees.

239 degrees.

Marron pulled the pot off the heat immediately and carefully—carefully—poured the hot syrup into her mixer bowl with the bloomed gelatin.

The whisk attachment whirred to life, and the mixture began to transform. From liquid to foam to something thick and glossy and perfect.

She added vanilla. The scent bloomed, sweet and warm.

The mixer continued whipping, the marshmallow cream growing in volume, becoming white and fluffy and holding peaks when she tested it with a spatula.

"Excellent," Vivienne said, appearing at her station. She examined the cream critically. "Good temperature control. Clean pour. This will set beautifully."

Marron poured the cream into her prepared pan—dusted with cornstarch and powdered sugar—and smoothed the top with an offset spatula.

Her hands were shaking slightly.

Not from stress. From realization.

The pot had been slow to heat. But once it reached the right temperature, it had maintained it perfectly. The climb from 200 to 240 had been steady, predictable, controllable.

She hadn't had to adjust the heat once.

She'd been able to focus entirely on watching the thermometer, on being ready for the exact right moment, because the pot was doing its job so quietly, so reliably, that she'd almost missed it.

That's more magical than I thought, she realized, staring at the copper pot as it sat cooling on her station. It's not flashy. It doesn't do the work for me. It just... makes it possible for me to do the work right.

After Class - Evening

Marron walked back to the inn with the copper pot in one hand and a container of marshmallows in the other. They'd need to set overnight, but she could already tell they'd turned out well.

"How was class?" Mokko asked when she arrived.

"Good," Marron said slowly. "Really good, actually."

She set the pot on the counter and just looked at it for a moment.

"The pot is slow to heat up," she said. "I noticed it during the sugar work. Everyone else's thermometers were climbing fast, but mine was taking its time. I thought something was wrong."

"Was there?"

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