The days after the second mission passed in a steady, almost comforting rhythm that Will was slowly beginning to accept as his new normal.
He woke each morning before dawn, the faint scent of last night's spices still clinging to his skin. He would dress quickly, tie the Simple Apron around his waist like familiar armor, and make his way through the quiet corridors to the Grand Cafeteria. The academy was still asleep, but the kitchen was already alive with the clatter of pots and the hiss of stoves.
Chef Borin had stopped giving him suspicious looks. Instead, he simply grunted orders and piled more work onto Will's station. "You're fast with that knife, kid. Don't waste it."
Will didn't waste it.
He chopped vegetables with the Inherited Kitchen Knife, the blade flashing in precise, almost meditative strokes. He stirred massive pots with practiced movements, the Mother's Worn Pot sitting faithfully on its shelf, its rim now carrying a constant, soft silver-gray glow that seemed to brighten whenever Einsfel was near. The Simple Apron, once plain and new, was now permanently stained with oil, herbs, and the occasional splash of broth — battle scars of his own kind.
The whispers had not stopped. If anything, they had evolved.
Some students still mocked him openly when they thought he couldn't hear.
"Soup boy is at it again."
"Does he really think throwing dumplings at monsters makes him a mage?"
Others had begun to watch him with cautious curiosity. A few — mostly those who had unknowingly eaten his subtly enhanced dishes — even started requesting "the usual from the cook" when they thought no one was listening.
Will heard every word, but he kept his head down and continued working. He had learned quickly that reacting only made things worse. Instead, he focused on what he could control — making the food a little better, a little more helpful, even if no one realized the quiet magic he was weaving into every bowl.
During the mid-morning lull, Einsfel appeared at the counter again.
She looked as elegant as ever in her deep blue and gold-trimmed uniform, but there was a subtle tiredness in her eyes. Morning theory classes had clearly been intense. Her silver-gray hair was tied back neatly, though a few loose strands still framed her face beautifully.
"The usual, please," she said with a small smile that was meant only for him.
Will's expression softened instantly.
"Spicy Power Soup with Focus Herb Salad?" he asked, already reaching for the ingredients.
Einsfel nodded. "You know me too well."
He prepared her bowl with extra care, making sure the spice level was perfect — warm, comforting, and just strong enough to help stabilize her magic without overwhelming her. When he handed it over, their fingers brushed for a moment longer than necessary. The Mother's Worn Pot behind him flickered with a slightly brighter silver-gray light.
Einsfel took a spoonful right there at the counter. Her eyes fluttered slightly as the familiar taste spread through her. The restless magic she had been struggling with since waking up visibly calmed, the faint blue glow around her body becoming smoother and more controlled.
She let out a tiny, almost inaudible sigh of relief.
"…It's perfect," she murmured, voice low enough that only he could hear. "Every time I eat what you make, it feels like everything inside me settles down. Like I'm back in Spicehaven. Safe. Warm."
Will felt a warm bloom in his chest.
A few students nearby noticed the interaction and started whispering again.
"Look at that. She's always coming to him."
"Do you think they're actually… you know?"
Einsfel ignored them completely. She took another bite, savoring it slowly, then leaned slightly closer to the counter while pretending to adjust her grip on the bowl.
"After your shift today," she whispered, her breath warm against his ear, "meet me at the quiet spot behind the eastern greenhouse. I want to spend some time with you. Just us."
Her cheeks gained a faint, beautiful pink tint.
Will's heart quickened. He nodded, trying to keep his face neutral. "I'll be there."
Einsfel gave him one last soft, lingering look before walking away with her bowl, her posture graceful and composed despite the whispers following her.
The rest of the morning passed in a blur of serving, chopping, and enduring the occasional mocking glance. Will kept working steadily, but his mind kept drifting to the promised meeting later.
Then, during the lunch rush, the whispers turned into something more direct.
Cyrus Vaughn entered the cafeteria with his usual group of followers. His golden hair was perfectly styled, and his robe bore the elite crest. He scanned the room until his eyes landed on Will.
He walked straight to the counter, a cold smile on his face.
"Soup boy," he said loudly enough for half the cafeteria to hear. "I heard you had quite the performance yesterday with those Shadow Lurkers. Using food as a weapon… how creative. Tell me, do you plan to season your way through every exam, or are you just hoping to impress your little border-town friend?"
His followers laughed.
Will kept his hands busy, stirring a large pot of porridge.
"I'm just doing my job," he replied calmly.
Cyrus leaned forward, lowering his voice but not enough to hide his words.
"Your 'job' is to stay in your place. This academy is for those with real power. Not for peasants who think throwing spices around makes them special. Einsfel deserves better than a kitchen pet following her around like a lost dog."
The words stung.
Before Will could respond, Einsfel appeared beside the counter again. She had clearly heard everything.
She set her empty bowl down and looked at Cyrus with calm, steady eyes.
"Cyrus," she said clearly, her voice carrying across the room, "if you spent less time mocking others and more time training, perhaps you wouldn't need to feel so threatened by someone who actually contributes."
Cyrus's smile froze.
Einsfel continued, her tone gentle but firm. "Will may not use spells, but he has already proven he can be useful in ways you can't. Or have you forgotten how he helped stabilize the situation yesterday while you were nowhere to be seen?"
The cafeteria went quiet.
Cyrus stared at her for a long moment, his face tight with barely contained anger. Then he forced a smile.
"You defend him quite passionately," he said coldly. "I wonder how long that loyalty will last when he inevitably drags you down."
He turned and left with his group, the tension in the air slowly dissipating.
Einsfel looked at Will, her expression softening.
"Are you okay?" she asked quietly.
Will nodded. "I'm fine. Thank you for standing up for me."
She gave him a small, warm smile. "I always will."
As the lunch rush continued, Will kept working, but something inside him had shifted. The mockery still hurt, but Einsfel's words — and her unwavering support — made it easier to bear.
Later that afternoon, during his short break, Will slipped away to the quiet spot behind the eastern greenhouse.
Einsfel was already waiting.
The moment she saw him, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, holding him close without a word. Will hugged her back, breathing in the familiar scent of her hair mixed with the sweet fragrance of mana flowers.
"I hate that they talk to you like that," she whispered against his chest. "You're doing so much more than they realize."
Will stroked her hair gently.
"It's okay," he said. "As long as you're here, I can handle it."
Einsfel pulled back just enough to look at him. Her blue eyes were soft but determined.
"Then let me remind you why you're here," she whispered.
She leaned in and kissed him — slow, deep, and full of quiet reassurance. Her hands slid under his shirt, tracing the lines of his chest as the kiss grew warmer.
In the secluded greenhouse, surrounded by glowing mana flowers, the two of them found another moment of peace.
A moment that belonged only to them.
And as the sun began to set, the faint silver-gray light on the Mother's Worn Pot continued to glow — a silent promise that their bond was growing stronger with every shared day, every shared meal, and every shared touch.