The registration hall of Aetheron Royal Arcane Academy was a grand, echoing chamber with floating crystal chandeliers and walls covered in moving magical runes. Hundreds of newly accepted students crowded the long counters, their excited chatter filling the air.
Will Harlan stood near the back of the line, still holding the Mother's Worn Pot in one arm like a security blanket. His Simple Apron was stained with oil and spices, and the Inherited Kitchen Knife was tucked into his belt. He looked exactly like what he was — a cook who had somehow stumbled into the wrong building.
The examiner at the counter, a middle-aged woman with sharp glasses and an even sharper expression, looked up from her list when it was finally his turn.
"Name?" she asked.
"Will Harlan."
She scanned her parchment. Her eyebrows rose slightly.
"Ah. The… soup boy."
A few students nearby snickered.
The examiner continued in a dry tone. "According to the combat test results, you defeated a mid-level Flamefang Beast using… culinary methods. Highly irregular, but technically a pass."
She stamped a document with a glowing seal.
"However, since you possess zero measurable magical talent and no formal combat training, you cannot be admitted as a regular mage student."
Will's heart sank.
The examiner pushed a thin silver badge across the counter toward him.
"Instead, you are accepted as a Special Auxiliary Chef under the academy's logistical support division. You will work in the Grand Cafeteria, prepare meals for students and staff, and assist in any special tactical situations where your… unique skills may prove useful."
She paused, then added with clear amusement, "Congratulations. You are now officially the first non-mage combat auxiliary in academy history."
Will stared at the badge. It read:
Will Harlan — Special Auxiliary ChefGrade: Provisional
He let out a long breath. It wasn't the glorious student life he had imagined, but…
At least he was in.
At least he could stay near Einsfel.
"Thank you," he said quietly, pinning the badge to his apron.
As he stepped away from the counter, a familiar voice called his name.
"Will!"
Einsfel hurried toward him through the crowd, her luxurious deep blue mage uniform standing out beautifully among the other first-years. She stopped in front of him, eyes scanning the new badge on his apron.
"Special Auxiliary Chef?" she read aloud, a small smile tugging at her lips. "They really gave you that title?"
Will scratched the back of his neck, embarrassed.
"Better than being sent home, I guess."
Einsfel's expression softened. She reached out and straightened the badge on his apron with gentle fingers.
"It suits you," she said quietly. "And it means you're staying. That's all that matters to me."
For a moment, the noisy hall seemed to fade into the background. Einsfel's blue eyes held his, warm and full of quiet relief.
Then she leaned in slightly, lowering her voice so only he could hear.
"Tonight," she whispered, "after you finish your first shift at the cafeteria… come to my dormitory room. I want that celebration meal you promised me."
Her cheeks turned a soft pink.
"Just the two of us."
Will's heart skipped. Before he could answer, a loud bell rang across the academy, signaling the end of registration.
Einsfel stepped back, composing herself with graceful composure once more. Only the faint blush on her cheeks remained.
"I'll see you later, Chef Harlan," she said with a small, teasing smile, then turned and disappeared into the stream of new students.
Will stood there for a few seconds, still feeling the warmth of her whisper.
Then reality hit him.
He had a job now.
A very unglamorous one.
The Grand Cafeteria of Aetheron Academy was enormous — long marble tables stretching into the distance, floating serving platforms carrying trays of glowing magical dishes, and hundreds of students chatting while eating food that sparkled with mana particles.
Will stood in the kitchen area, wearing a fresh (but already slightly stained) apron provided by the staff. The head chef, a burly man named Chef Borin, looked him up and down with a skeptical grunt.
"So you're the soup boy everyone's talking about," Borin said. "Fine. Start with washing those pots. Then chop vegetables for tomorrow's stew. And try not to blow anything up."
Will nodded and got to work.
As he scrubbed a massive cauldron, the familiar weight of the Mother's Worn Pot on a nearby shelf caught his eye. The faint silver-gray light along its rim had grown just a little brighter since the test.
He smiled to himself.
One step at a time.
Hours later, when the dinner rush finally died down, Will wiped the sweat from his forehead and looked at the clock. It was already late.
He picked up the Mother's Worn Pot, now cleaned and polished, and slipped out of the cafeteria through the back door.
The night air was cool. Magical lanterns floated gently along the academy paths, casting soft blue and gold light.
Will's heart beat faster as he made his way toward the first-year dormitory buildings.
He was nervous.
He was excited.
And he was carrying a pot.
Because tonight, he had a promise to keep.
A celebration meal.
Just for Einsfel.