"I don't know. Political ambition? Building a power base? Something calculated." Kira took the registration forms. "But you actually just care about the vendors. That's... refreshing."

"Is it?" Marron felt oddly self-conscious. "It seems like the baseline for being a decent person."

"You'd be surprised how rare 'baseline decent' is in this city." Kira stood, tucking the forms into her bag. "I'll have these filed by tomorrow. Put me down for five vendor partnerships. And Marron? Thank you for organizing this. Even if it doesn't work, thank you for trying."

After Kira left, Marron sat in the cafe for a few more minutes, processing the conversation.

Building a power base. The phrase stuck with her. Was that what she was doing? She didn't think so—this felt like crisis response, not ambition. But she was definitely becoming more visible. More connected. More... significant.

The System chimed softly.

[Recruitment Progress: 6/10 chefs committed]

[Warning: Increased visibility detected. You are being observed.]

[Secondary Warning: Strategic decisions have political consequences. Choose your allies carefully.]

Marron stared at the notifications, particularly that second one. You are being observed.

She looked around the cafe—mid-morning crowd, mostly professionals having late breakfasts or early meetings. No one seemed to be paying attention to her. But the System didn't give warnings lightly.

Someone was watching. But who? And why?

She filed the question away—she didn't have time to worry about mysterious observers when she had four more chefs to recruit today—and headed to her next meeting.

By evening, Marron had met with all five potential recruits. Three had committed immediately. One had asked for a day to think about it. The last had politely declined—too risky, too complicated, too much potential for backlash.

Nine chefs total, if she counted optimistically. Maybe ten if the uncertain one came through.

Still short of the fifty vendors who needed help, but getting closer.

She returned to her apartment to find Mokko cooking dinner—something simple but nourishing, because he knew she'd forget to eat otherwise. Lucy, on the other hand, was entertaining herself by forming increasingly elaborate shapes in her jar.

"How'd it go?" Mokko asked, not looking up from the stove.

"Nine confirmed, maybe ten. Three more meetings tomorrow." Marron collapsed onto her bed, every muscle aching. "Millie sent a message—she's got a location for the showcase. The Guild approved use of one of the courtyards. Saturday afternoon."

"That's four days away."

"I know." Marron stared at the ceiling. "Think we can pull it together in time?"

"You're asking the wrong question." Mokko plated the food—some kind of stir-fry with vegetables and rice. "The question isn't whether we can. It's whether we will. And the answer is yes, because the alternative is unacceptable."

Lucy burbled agreement, forming a determined fist.

Marron smiled despite her exhaustion. "When did you get so inspirational?"

"I've always been inspirational. You just notice it more when you're tired." Mokko set the plate in front of her. "Eat. Then sleep. Tomorrow you recruit more chefs and start planning for the showcase."

"Tomorrow I also need to check in with the vendors who are partnering with our first wave of chefs," Marron said around a mouthful of food. "Make sure the paperwork is processing correctly. And contact Henrik about whether the Culinary Guild has made any progress on their official review. And—"

"One thing at a time," Mokko interrupted. "Tonight, you eat and sleep. Tomorrow's problems can wait for tomorrow."

He was right, as usual. Marron finished her dinner, managed a quick wash, and fell into bed still wearing half her clothes.

Her last thought before sleep claimed her was about that System warning. You are being observed.

Tomorrow, she'd worry about who was watching and why.

Tonight, she'd rest.

+

The next three days blurred together in a whirlwind of meetings, paperwork, and frantic coordination.

Marron recruited three more chefs, bringing her total to twelve. Forty-two vendors now had partnerships secured or pending. Eight were still unaccounted for—either too scared to trust the new system, too isolated to hear about it, or already forced into exploitative contracts with upper district restaurants.

Millie coordinated the showcase with ruthless efficiency. Forty vendors agreed to participate, setting up their carts in the Guild courtyard for an afternoon of public tastings. The Culinary Guild officially remained neutral—they couldn't endorse the event without completing their decree review—but Chef Henrik had quietly ensured they had access to supplies, equipment, and space.

The street market buzzed with cautious hope. Vendors who'd been days away from closing were suddenly talking about the future again. Some had already submitted partnership paperwork. Others were waiting to see if the showcase would generate enough public support to pressure the Merchant's Guild into backing down.

And through it all, Marron kept feeling it. The sense of being watched.

It wasn't constant—just occasional moments when her neck prickled, when she glanced up and thought she saw someone in the crowd paying too much attention. A figure in the market who seemed to be observing vendors rather than buying. A well-dressed man at the Guild who'd been taking notes during one of her recruitment meetings.

She mentioned it to Mokko once, and he'd immediately gone into protective mode—scanning crowds, positioning himself between her and strangers, generally being obvious about security. After that, Marron stopped mentioning it. She was probably being paranoid. The decree had everyone on edge.

But the System had warned her, and...well. Marron doubted it could be steering her toward failure.

Saturday arrived with clear skies and perfect weather—the kind of late spring day that made Lumeria's crystal towers gleam and brought everyone outdoors. The Guild courtyard filled early, citizens curious about the "Street Market Showcase" that had been advertised all week.

Marron stood near the entrance, watching vendors set up their carts with practiced efficiency. The egg bread vendor with his hand-stamped boxes. The dumpling makers with their delicate folds. Millie's moon cake cart with its paper lanterns. The grilled fish vendor who'd argued with the Merchant's Guild official. Forty carts, forty stories, forty businesses fighting to survive.

"Nervous?" Millie appeared at her elbow, looking unusually formal in what was clearly her "Guild representative" outfit.

"Terrified," Marron admitted. "What if no one comes? What if they come but don't care? What if—"

"Marron." Millie pointed at the entrance. "Look."

The crowd was growing. Citizens streaming in, some curious, some clearly supportive. Marron saw Guild pins—other chefs coming to show solidarity. She saw families with children, young professionals on lunch breaks, elderly couples who'd probably been buying from these vendors for years.

And at the back of the growing crowd, partially obscured by a pillar, a tall man with graying hair and wire-rimmed glasses was watching the scene with intense focus. He wore expensive but understated clothing—the kind that spoke of old money rather than nouveau riche. In his hand, he held a small leather notebook.

Marron's skin prickled. That was him. The observer. She was certain of it.

"Who is that?" she muttered.

Millie followed her gaze. "No idea. Why?"

"He's been... I keep seeing him. Or people like him. Watching." Marron tried to get a better look, but the man had shifted position, putting more people between them.

"Probably just someone curious about the showcase," Millie said, but her tone suggested she wasn't entirely convinced.

The man pulled out his notebook and wrote something, his expression neutral but focused. Then he looked up, and for just a moment, his eyes met Marron's across the crowded courtyard.

He smiled—polite, distant—and adjusted his glasses.

Then he turned and disappeared into the crowd.

Marron's heart was pounding. She didn't know why, exactly. The man hadn't done anything threatening. Hadn't approached her. Had just... watched and smiled.

But something about that smile, about the way his eyes had assessed her behind those glasses, made her deeply uneasy.

"Marron?" Millie's voice pulled her back. "You okay?"

"Yeah." Marron forced herself to focus. "Yeah. Just... jumpy. Let's start the showcase."

But as she moved through the courtyard, greeting vendors and welcoming attendees, part of her mind stayed on that tall man with the notebook.

Someone was watching. And now she knew what he looked like.

The question was: what did he want?

[Quest Update: Defend the Market]

[Progress: 42/50 vendors secured partnerships]

[Public Support: Growing]

[Time Remaining: 8 days]

[New Development: You have attracted the attention of an unknown observer]

[Warning: Not all who watch do so with good intentions]

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