The Shadow Chef: Seven Days Cal and Pecorine Never Knew - Golden glowing soup—the day the price of memory begins

The sound of a knife echoed through the quiet kitchen. It was evening at the Gourmet Guild — a royal research facility and dining hall on the border between the downtown and commercial districts of the royal capital, Soleil, where cooking and alchemy were fused into one. After closing time, with most of the staff gone, the kitchen was silent enough to make the daytime bustle feel like a lie. Saren was alone, doing prep work for the next day. Her sunset-colored long hair was loosely braided, and her figure, wrapped in a white apron dress, was delicate and slender. Too thin for a cook — that was what the director, Pecorine, always worried about. Even so, there was no wasted motion in her hands. She peeled carrots, thinly sliced onions. The rhythm of the knife striking the cutting board was as regular as a lullaby. —Clatter. A noise came from the back. Saren stopped her hands. Her amber eyes turned toward the sound. The dim depths of the kitchen. Beyond the prep counter, in the shadow of the refrigerator. "...Is someone there?" No answer. She set down the knife and crept closer, muffling her footsteps. Something stirred deep in her chest. It's just a noise. The wind, or a rat. She tried to tell herself that. But her feet wouldn't stop. And then, she found it. A figure collapsed on the floor. Short brown hair. The bangs slightly sticking up. Beneath closed eyes, deep dark circles. An arm stretched limply from the sleeve of a well-worn cooking uniform. "Yuuki... san...?" Her voice trembled. Yuuki — the sub-leader and head chef of the Gourmet Guild. A man who took care of everyone, who was kind to all, who always put himself last. The kind of person who laughed and called the whole staff his family. The heart of this place. And he was lying on the cold floor. Saren ran to him. She dropped to her knees and put a hand on his shoulder. Warm. But he was limp. His breathing was shallow, his face white as paper. "Yuuki-san, Yuuki-san!" She called his name again and again. No response. (Please, open your eyes.) She screamed it in her heart. Since she couldn't say it aloud, she put the force into her hands instead. She gently lifted Yuuki's head onto her lap. His sweat-soaked bangs brushed against her apron. "Someone... someone, come...!" She wanted to scream, but her voice wouldn't come out properly. Her throat seized. Her legs shook so badly she couldn't even stand. That was when it happened. The thought-conduction cooking implements placed throughout the kitchen — the silver bracelets for imbuing feelings into food, the knives and pots engraved with thought-conduction circuits — all trembled at once, ever so faintly. The silver bracelet on Saren's left wrist grew hot for just an instant. (I want to protect Yuuki-san.) Her unconscious feeling overflowed, turning into magical power. Saren didn't notice. Didn't notice that her feelings had begun to resonate with the implements throughout the kitchen. "Saren-chan!?" A voice called out, and she turned. Kokkoro, the head server, stood there. Her pale pink medium-length hair was tied in two bundles beside her ears, white ribbons swaying. Her large, pale green eyes took in the collapsed Yuuki and Saren cradling his head — and filled with tears in an instant. "Yuuki-sama...!" "Kokkoro, go get Pecorine-san. And contact Mirabel Clinic." Saren's voice came out far calmer than she expected. She'd been trembling just moments ago. Kokkoro nodded again and again, then ran off. Saren looked down at Yuuki on her lap. "...It's all right." Those words were meant for herself. She gripped Yuuki's hand. It was a big hand. Knobby fingers. Covered in old scars from knives — a cook's hand, she thought. These hands had always made delicious food. These hands had made everyone smile. On the second joint of Saren's left ring finger, there was a small old scar. One she'd gotten from a knife. Just moments ago, when she'd cut ingredients with trembling hands. "...If only I'd noticed sooner." The murmur dissolved into the quiet kitchen. A short while later, Pecorine came running. The director of the Gourmet Guild — a dazzling woman with bright blonde hair that swayed softly around her. She took one look at the situation and began issuing crisp instructions. "I'll carry Yuuki-kun to the infirmary with Kokkoro. Saren-chan, you sit down for a moment." "I'll help carry him too." "No. You're pale as a ghost." Saren shook her head. "...Please. Let me help too." Pecorine stared at Saren's face for a moment. Then she let out a small sigh. "All right. But don't push yourself." The three of them carried Yuuki to the infirmary. A small room on the second floor with three beds lined up. A medicine cabinet and simple medical equipment. A nurse came from the affiliated Mirabel Clinic three times a week. They laid Yuuki on the bed. Pecorine examined him quickly and sighed. "Overwork and malnutrition. I bet he skipped his own meals again." "Yuuki-sama always made everyone else's portions first and put off his own." Kokkoro's voice was on the verge of tears. "Recovery will take seven days. That's what the doctor from Mirabel Clinic said. Fortunately, his life isn't in danger, but he needs absolute rest for a while." Seven days. Saren repeated the words in her chest. "Saren-chan, would you make him recovery food?" Pecorine turned around. "Your cooking is the one with the most feeling put into it. I'm sure Yuuki-kun will be happy too." Saren nodded. She returned to the kitchen. The spot where he'd collapsed had already been cleaned up. Someone must have tidied it. She stood before the cutting board. (What Yuuki-san would want to eat.) Her hands moved on their own. Onion, carrot, celery, cabbage. And chicken wings. She filled a pot with water and lit the fire. This was vegetable soup. Only once before, Yuuki had said "This is good." A staff meal on a busy day — a soup Saren had thrown together carelessly. Nothing special. And yet Yuuki had laughed and said, "This is seriously good. Make it again sometime." That smile, one more time. Saren sautéed the vegetables slowly. To draw out the sweetness, without burning them. She skimmed the scum carefully, seasoned with nothing but salt. And then it happened. A faint golden light leaked from Saren's fingertips. "...Huh?" The light was thin as thread, drawn into the pot. The surface of the soup began to glow faintly. As if the morning sun had melted into the water. Saren stared at her own hands. The silver bracelet on her left wrist was warm. Thought-conduction alchemy — a technique that used feelings as a catalyst to dramatically enhance the nutritional value and efficacy of ingredients. The Gourmet Guild's flagship technology, usable by only about five hundred people nationwide. Saren could use it, technically. But it had never glowed this strongly before. (What am I doing right now...) The soup shimmered a thick, golden color. An ordinary vegetable soup, looking like a jewel. "...Saren-chan." A voice came, and she turned. Pecorine stood at the kitchen entrance. Her eyes weren't on the pot — they were on Saren's hands. "That light... it's incredible. The healing effect looks like it's at least three times normal." "I didn't mean to..." "Yes, I know. It was unconscious, wasn't it? When feelings are too strong, that can happen." Pecorine opened her mouth as if to say something more. But she stopped. Instead, she gazed at Saren with a complicated expression. "Saren-chan, those feelings of yours... they might be on the verge of developing into memory conduction." "Memory conduction?" "It's an advanced technique that converts memories of a specific person into magical power. The stronger your feelings for that person, the stronger the power. But..." Pecorine cut herself off there. "...But?" "If you use it too much, there's a risk your own memories will become hazy." Saren looked at the golden soup in the pot. "I'll be fine." Pecorine smiled, as if she'd given up on something. "...I see. But don't push yourself. Really." Night fell. Saren sat in a chair in the infirmary. At Yuuki's bedside. On the bed, Yuuki slept. Every so often, his brows furrowed in pain. His fever persisted. Outside the window, the nightscape of the royal capital Soleil was visible. This city, the center of magical engineering, was bright even at night. The light of streetlamps illuminated the cobblestones. In the distance, a steam locomotive's whistle sounded. (Yuuki-san.) Saren gazed at Yuuki's face. His bangs plastered down with sweat. His closed eyes. His colorless lips. "...Saren." She heard it. Saren held her breath. "Saren... where..." Yuuki's mouth moved, unmistakably. He wasn't conscious. It was delirium. And yet, unmistakably. "Saren... thank you..." Something inside Saren's chest broke. Before she knew it, she was holding Yuuki's hand. Both hands, gripping tight. "...I'm right here." Her voice was wet with tears. "I'm right here...!" In that moment, a memory from three years ago came back with vivid clarity. The downtown of the royal capital Soleil. A small subcontractor's diner. Saren was fifteen, working there as an apprentice. That day, in a corner of the shop, a boy was practicing with a knife. He looked seventeen or eighteen. Brown hair soaked with sweat, bangs sticking up. With a serious face, he was attempting the katsura-muki — the thin-slicing of a daikon. —Ah. Red blood welled from the boy's finger. Before she knew it, Saren had run over. "Um... please use this." What she held out was her own handkerchief. White, utterly plain cloth. The boy blinked for a moment. Then he smiled apologetically. "Eh, you sure? It'll get dirty." "It's fine. You need to stop the bleeding." The boy took the handkerchief. "Thanks. You saved me. ...Um, what's your name?" "Saren." "Saren-chan, huh. I'm Yuuki. Nice to meet you." Yuuki grinned. His bright brown eyes narrowed into crescent moons. Saren looked at that smile and thought: (Ah. It's him.) What "him" meant, fifteen-year-old Saren didn't understand. But she was certain of it. Yuuki wrapped his finger with the handkerchief and started practicing again. "Saren-chan, are you aiming to be a cook too?" "Yes. I'm still just an apprentice, though." "I see. Me too. Let's do our best." That was all the conversation they had. But for Saren, it was the only moment in her life when someone had acknowledged her. Three years since that day. Saren joined the Gourmet Guild and reunited with Yuuki. Yuuki didn't remember that time. He hadn't realized that the girl with the handkerchief was Saren. That was fine. That was what Saren had always thought. "...Yuuki-san." In the infirmary, Saren murmured. "I've never once thanked you properly." Yuuki slept. "Because you smiled at me that day, I can still stand here now." Outside the window, the night wind stirred the trees. "So this time, it's my turn." Still holding Yuuki's hand, Saren closed her eyes as if in prayer. Late that night. Saren returned to her room. The third floor of the Gourmet Guild, a private room for staff. Simply furnished, with cookbooks lined up on the bookshelf. She took a diary from the desk drawer. She flipped through the pages. The page from three years ago. 'Three years ago, the handkerchief, the day Yuuki-san smiled.' The writing on that page was faint, blurred as if it were fading away. "...Huh?" Saren strained her eyes. The words she had definitely written were faint. As if the ink had faded. (The ink just got old.) She told herself that. She opened a new page. She picked up a pen and wrote down today's events. 'Yuuki-san collapsed. I want him to get better soon.' The moment she finished writing. On the back of Saren's left hand, a faint golden pattern surfaced. "...What is this?" The pattern was shaped like a flower. It glowed faintly, then vanished. Saren stared at her hand. (Some kind of stain

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Episode 1

Name: The Shadow Chef: Seven Days Cal and Pecorine Never Knew
Author: Novelia

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