Piling into the food wagon, Sofiane immediately checked every surface, cupboard, and utensil. There was enough space for the three of them to maneuver about but the lighting was dim with just the sunlight coming in through the food wagon’s open serving counter. Opposite the window was the oven.

“If we want to win, I’m in charge, j'ai compris?” Sofiane said.

Daisy nodded enthusiastically and Natsuko folded her arms.

“What if I’ve got my own ideas?” Natsuko said.

“Then make a diligent attempt to forget them.”

“Fluffy little ass.”

Sofiane clapped his hands. “Alright! Whenever I tell you to do something, I want you to say, “yes, chef!”

“Yes, chef!” Daisy said.

“Yes, chef,” Natsuko said, biting her tongue for the several thousand, sparkling gold little babies dearly awaiting their mother’s embrace.

“Good. Daisy, grind up the spices in a pestle and mortar. We need six grams of shaved cinnamon, three grams each of ground ginger, nutmeg, and salt, and one-and-a-half of cloves. Got all that?”

Daisy saluted. “Roger that!”

Sofiane scowled.

“Oops! Sorry, roger that, chef!”

As Daisy began rooting around the cupboards for pie spices and Natsuko tried to remember what the hell a gram was and how it converted to the far more sensible measurement system of tea and tablespoons, Sofiane pointed at a bowl. “Natsuko mix 375 grams of flour with a pinch of salt while I go buy some butter and lard real quick—”

“Are you kidding me?”

The three of them turned to the window and the source of the voice. Harald, Margaret, Faisal, and the raccoon girl were staring at them. Harald’s gaze was fixed on Sofiane with an expression of visceral hatred and revulsion. All four wore checkered aprons over their usual Hero outfits.

“First, you butcher us for wanting a fair shake of the Cursed Demon’s Eye,” Harald said, conveniently forgetting he had started the fight. “And now you’re trying to take our pie money from us!?”

Sofiane’s face grew a gremlin-like smirk. “Monsieur, if you win fair and square, the money is yours. But I don’t think I’ll even need to cut you down this time.”

Harald’s face turned red and veins bulged from his temples. Before he could shout something back, the raccoon girl grabbed him by the arm. “Hey! Calm down Harald. Beating them is gonna be a walk in the park. Look, they don’t even have aprons on. What self-respecting baker would be caught dead without an apron on? We’re gonna wipe the floor with them.”

Harald spat at the dust in front of their wagon. “Fine. Let’s go bake.”

“Aww, have fun in your cute little aprons,” Sofiane taunted as they walked off. Natsuko and Daisy, however, looked concerned.

“Shit! How could we forget aprons!?” Natsuko said, throwing open drawers, hoping the previous occupants had left some.

Sofiane raised an eyebrow. “What the hell are you on about?”

Natsuko spun around and grabbed his poofy collar with both hands. “No self-respecting baker bakes without an apron on!”

“Oh dear, how can I play up my archetype without an apron?” Daisy said, pacing in a small circle. “It’s not about the pie, it’s about how you look while baking it!”

“Gods-damn guys, calm down. We can just go buy some aprons, they cost like, two Ying,” Sofiane said.

“Or,” Natsuko said, grinning evilly, “we can steal them.”

“What? No! Literally, why would we do that!?” Sofiane said. “Go get the pie crust flour ready and I’ll go buy us some—”

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“No, no, think about it,” Natsuko said, “we can take people out of the competition by secretly sabotaging their efforts.”

Sofiane squinted. “By stealing their aprons…”

“No self-respecting baker bakes without an apron,” Daisy explained helpfully.

Sofiane slapped his forehead. “Ugh. We’re waiting on Pechorin for that pumpkin, so if you both are quick about it, we should have time.”

Daisy and Natsuko gleefully hopped out of the back of their food wagon and beelined for their neighbor’s.

“Let’s go for the eggheads,” Daisy said, pointing at the scholars. Creeping along behind the line of food wagons, they were both careful not to step on the crunchy carpet of newly-fallen leaves. Instead, their downfall, as they reached for the pile of aprons laying on the counter, was their incessant giggling.

“What! Who’s there? Scoundrels!” One of the scholars cried, turning around from their distillation process.

“Whoopsie!” Daisy said, nabbing the aprons and running.

“Stop! Thief!”

Natsuko ran with her, the two of them losing their pursuers in the crowd of Non-Heroes filling the market square. Their giggling continued on the way back to their own wagon. It was stopped only by the appearance of the raccoon girl from Harald’s team. She stood with her hands on her hips, glaring at them.

“You better not try that with us, got it?” she said.

“Oh come now, we’re just having a bit of fun!” Daisy said. “It’s just an apron after all.”

The raccoon girl rolled her eyes. “Just an apron? Is this a big joke to you, Ms. Top-Of-The-Use-Charts? Stuff like this contest is how me and my teammates make sure we have food in our stomachs. We have to bust our ass for scraps, meanwhile you’re doing this for— for fun! Or— or for your archetype or whatever, because that 100,000 Ying reward is peanuts compared to what you get every week on Sunday. Am I wrong?”

Daisy’s glee melted into guilt. “No, you’re not wrong. I’m sorry, I didn’t know things were this bad for… erm… what’s the polite term for Heroes that aren’t used much?”

The raccoon girl huffed. “Call us garbage for all I care! Just don’t mess with our livelihood. If you win the pie-making contest fairly, fine. It’ll suck to live off dried rice and beans for another week, but we’ll get over it. But, just do it fairly and don’t steal anything, okay?”

Daisy and Natsuko’s walk back was more subdued after that.

“Really, I didn’t know it was like that for them, truly,” Daisy said. “They must be getting only a couple thousand a week from the Yishang.”

Again, Natsuko considered telling Daisy about her own situation. But after seeing the patronizing response Pechorin received, she decided against it. She wasn’t going to lie and say she was better off, but she also wasn’t going to mention her situation was even worse.

“Should we throw the contest for them?” Daisy asked.

“Hell no!” Natsuko said. “Erm, I mean, it wouldn’t be in the spirit of competition, right? Just handing it over to them would be… uh... degrading, don’t you think?”

“I hadn’t even thought about that! You’re such a kind soul, Natsu.”

She didn't disabuse Daisy of that impression, though it was now feeling more and more like their—acquaintanceship? Friendship, dare she think?—was built on false pretenses. Well, it wasn’t like Daisy would be around for much longer anyway. Once the Yishang pushed more of the Mist back there would be more dungeons to explore and quests to complete and minions of the Entropic Axis to defeat and Daisy would be back to playing the Use-Number game again. This contest was a side-show for her.

As they returned to their wagon, they heard Sofiane’s voice inside.

“Easy there. Set her down nice and gentle-like. There we go.”

Pechorin was setting down a huge pumpkin the width and height of his chest. A third of it hung over the edge of the counter. He wiped sweat from his brow.

“I found a pumpkin suiting my dark, twisted tastes. Its own vines entwined it like self-imposed shackles,” Pechorin said.

Sofiane bent an ear to the pumpkin and rapped on it with a knuckle. “Doesn’t sound rotten at least.”

“Gourd willing,” Pechorin said.

“Let’s chop it up then, get it pureed, and mix in some sugar."

“Yes, chef!” Daisy said, frantically tying her apron’s waistband. Natsuko had to help her before she accidentally tied her own wrists.

“Good thinking,” Pechorin said, taking one of the aprons. “No baker who has not been crushed under the heel of despair would think of foregoing the snug assurance of an apron.”

Sofiane threw his hands up. “Apparently everyone knows this but me. Give me a damn apron, Natsuko.”

“Yes, Chef,” she said, handing it over with a smug look.

Their little wagon kitchen was soon buzzing with culinary activity. Daisy was smashing the spices down to the molecular level, Natsuko was losing herself in the fun of squishing lard and butter into the pie crust dough, and Pechorin was measuring out brown sugar for the pumpkin puree on a scale while Sofiane stirred down the pumpkin flesh in a pot. Dumping the brown sugar into the puree, Sofiane whisked it together with a dollop of sweet cream then lifted the spoon up to taste before promptly spitting it all over the wall.

“Yuck! Blegh! What the hell is this, Pech!?” Sofiane said.

“A pumpkin,” Pechorin replied.

“No pumpkin should taste this bitter! What did you—”

“Like I said, dark, twisted tastes,” Pechorin said. “My world is more bitter than sweet. My past as acrid as—”

Natsuko threw a pie pan at Pechorin’s head.