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The last thing I remembered is the clang of a sauté pan hitting the floor and an 80-hour work week finally killing me. So why, why, did I wake up smelling pine needles and... wet dog? My eyes snapped open. This was not my studio apartment. This was a forest. A very real, very cold, very where-are-the-park-rangers forest. A low growl rumbled through the air, vibrating in my chest. I froze. Ten feet away, standing over the carcass of a half-eaten deer, was a wolf. No, wait. A wolf was an understatement. This thing was a dire wolf. It was the size of a smart car, with fur the color of a winter storm and cold, icy-blue eyes that looked... unnervingly intelligent. Okay. Okay. This is a dream. Or maybe I got so stressed I'm hallucinating. Or maybe this is one of those insane corporate 'team-building' exercises from hell? The wolf lifted its massive head. It sniffed the air. Its gaze locked right onto me. And then, it curled its lip. I'm not kidding. It looked at me with pure, unadulterated disgust. Like I was a badly plated appetizer that had been sent back to the kitchen. Nope! Not a dream! The wolf took one heavy, deliberate step, then another. I didn't wait for a third. I spun on my heel...in what felt like a truly impractical dress and ran. "NOT TODAY, SATAN'S LAPDOG!" I shrieked, vaulting over a log I had no business clearing. My stamina was built for 16-hour kitchen shifts, not... this! "I AM NOT ON THE MENU!" I could hear it crashing through the underbrush behind me, and it was fast. Why was it so mad?! It had a perfectly good, non-panic-screaming deer right back there! I saw a gap in a thorny thicket up ahead. It was a terrible idea, but it was the only one I had. I dove. Rips and tears. Thorns snagged my dress, but the giant wolf skidded to a halt just outside. It growled, a sound of pure, huffy frustration, and glared at me through the branches. It seemed... reluctant to follow. Ha! Too precious for a little scratch, are we, pretty boy? After a tense minute, it huffed...a sound of utter annoyance, and finally stalked off. I waited until my heart stopped trying to beat its way out of my ribcage. My hands were shaking, and I was covered in... muck. I stumbled out of the thicket, desperate for a drink of water, and nearly fell face-first into a small, clear pond. I knelt, cupping my hands to drink, and froze. The reflection staring back at me was not mine. Where my mousy-brown hair and tired 30-year-old face should have been, there was... a young woman. Maybe 20 at most. She had the fluffiest, most untamable silver hair I'd ever seen, so bright it almost looked white in the dappled sunlight. Her eyes were wide with shock...and they were a stunning, clear amber. And then I saw them. Peeking from the messy silver hair were two... fox ears. Wait...what? I am a fox? I frantically scrambled to check my backside, patting the torn dress. Nothing. No tail. Not even a small one. Why don't I have a tail? A fox-kin with no tail..? I am so screwed. That's when I heard it. A panicked, reedy voice from the edge of the forest. "Primrose! Oh, Primrose, are you in there? You're late for your scolding!" Primrose? It all clicked. The fox ears. The missing tail. The name. This was the Hard Mode route I always avoided playing in Beastly B.A.D.s. The route of the failed Fox-kin, Lady Primrose Thistle , who gets sold off to a monster. And who announces a scolding like it's a dinner reservation? "I... I'm over here!" I called out, my voice cracking. Two figures came rushing toward me, and I stopped dead. They were definitely fox-kin. The woman, who had sharp features and auburn fox ears, grabbed my shoulders. The man, a portly fellow with a kind face and a huge, bushy orange tail, wrung his hands. "Oh, Primrose!" the woman wailed, "Look at you! You smell like wolf! It's disgraceful! Did those awful cousins of yours lure you into the forest again?" I just stared, my brain buffering. Lure me? I remember reading the Chapter 1 description on the game's wiki... "At 20, Primrose is lured into the territory of the Wolf Lord by her jealous cousins, in hopes that he will 'cull' the 'failed,' tail-less fox..." My aunt was still wailing. "...lured you right into the Jaeger hunting grounds, didn't they? Those awful children! Thank the stars Lord Rurik Jaeger didn't find you!" Lord Rurik Jaeger. The Grumpy Wolf B.A.D.. My mind flashed to his Easy Mode game sprite: a ridiculously handsome man with stormy grey-silver hair, cold icy-blue eyes, and a permanent "I-hate-everyone" scowl. The game lore said his full-beast form was a massive silver wolf, known for being territorial and hating fox-kin. I swallowed, my brain finally short-circuiting. That giant, angry, "hates-foxes," "too-good-for-thorns" wolf that just tried to eat me... that was my main 'capture target'?! This Hard Mode was going to be the actual end of me. My aunt kept her grip on my arm, half-dragging me through the woods. The entire walk home was a running commentary on my failings. "Honestly, Primrose, the state of you! That dress is ruined. Utterly ruined! And the smell! It will take ages to wash the mutt-stink out of it." "Now, now, Petunia," my uncle huffed, trying to keep up. His portly stomach jiggled, and his magnificent (if slightly greasy) orange tail was drooping. "She's safe, that's what matters..." "Safe? She's a disgrace!" Aunt Petunia snapped, her auburn fox ears flat against her head. "Wandering into Jaeger territory! What if he'd kept her? No, what if he'd killed her? Either way, just imagine the paperwork!" Yep. There it was. The famous Thistle warmth. My new aunt and uncle, Barnaby and Petunia Thistle. This was my new life. Fantastic. We finally arrived at the manor, which was a very polite term for a house that was actively crumbling at the edges. It was a classic faded glory setting, perfect for a Hard Mode route. And there, sitting on the porch steps, trying to look innocent and failing miserably, were my awful cousins. My brain, which was great at cataloging, instantly took in the details I knew from the game's wiki. The boy, Lupin Thistle, was eighteen. He had green eyes which were sharp and cunning, set in a handsome face framed by slick, auburn fox ears. He was leaning against a post, idly preening one of his three...three...bushy tails. The "golden boy" and the ringleader. The girl, Cassia Thistle, was seventeen. A paler, mean-girl echo. She had strawberry-blonde hair, pouty green eyes, and two perfect, fluffy tails, which she was currently pretending to clean. Aunt Petunia dropped my arm and stormed onto the porch. "Lupin! Cassia! What is the meaning of this? Your cousin could have been eaten!" Lupin just smirked, not even bothering to stand. "Oh, please, Mother. We just... suggested a shortcut. It's not our fault she's stupid enough to get lost and wander onto Jaeger land." "Son! That is Lord Rurik Jaeger's land!" Uncle Barnaby wheezed, his kind face bright red. "He hates our kind! You know the laws!" "Oh, who cares!" Cassia snapped, standing up. "It would have solved all our problems, wouldn't it?" Aunt Petunia actually faltered. "Cassia! That is a terrible thing to... I mean... you must pretend to be sad about it!" Wow. She didn't even try to hide it. "Why should we? We're all thinking it!" Lupin pushed off the post, his amber eyes locking onto me. "She's a failure, Father. A twenty-year-old tail-less fox! She's practically a spinster! She's a curse!" There it was. The tail-less fox. In this world, a fox-kin's status and magic were in their tails. Most nobles had three, four, or five. My ancestors apparently had nine. I had a grand total of zero. "He's right!" Cassia chimed in. "Didn't you say you needed to get rid of her quickly so we could be free? We were just... helping!" "Hush, both of you!" Uncle Barnaby stammered, his face turning a blotchy purple. "Oh, save it," Lupin sneered. "We all know Marquis Grieve is coming. We all know what he wants." I froze. He'd said it. The Marquis. He was talking about Marquis Grieve. The Bad End of my game wasn't just some abstract threat...it was a real person. A person my cousins knew about. They were literally trying to save me from one monster by feeding me to another. "What? It's the truth," he said with a shrug, enjoying the shocked silence. "She's a burden. And if the Wolf Lord won't cull her, then the Marquis will. Either way, this family will finally be free of its failed Primrose." I stood there, dripping pond water, smelling like "mutt-stink," and stared at my new family. The aunt who saw me as paperwork. The uncle who was a coward. And the cousins who had just tried to have me murdered. They thought I was the failed Primrose Thistle. The one who would cry and be sold off. But I wasn't. I was a Top Chef who had survived 80-hour work weeks, Gordon Ramsay-level head chefs, and, as of ten minutes ago, a homicidal wolf-man. They wanted to get rid of me? Fine. I'd get rid of them first. ... Chapter 2: I Refuse My Bad End. My aunt and uncle practically threw me into my room, bolting the lock from the outside, as if I was the danger, not the family of sociopaths on the other side. The room was... well, "horrible" was a kind word. It was a tiny, cold attic space with a sloping roof I couldn't even stand up straight in. The bed was a lumpy cot, the blanket was a rag, and the decor was dust, dust, and more dust. I sat on the cot, my dress still damp and reeking of mutt-stink, and finally let my brain process. Okay. I am Primrose Thistle. I am twenty years old. I am in the Hard Mode of an Otome game. My family wants me gone, and my Bad End is marriage to the human-sized-toad, Marquis Grieve. My "I'll get them first" bravado from downstairs suddenly felt... thin. How? I'd been a chef, not a black-ops agent. I couldn't exactly sauté my cousins into submission. I paced the tiny room. Think like a gamer. What are the Hard Mode mechanics? In Beastly B.A.D.s, the Easy Mode Lioness FL had a skill called Alpha's Allure, which made all the MLs go dumb for her. The Normal Mode heroine had Noble Charisma. The Hard Mode heroine (who was now me, a Fox-kin) had... nothing. Wait. It was worse than nothing. I remembered reading the fan-wikis. In this world, "allure" wasn't just about looks; it was about pheromones. A powerful beast-kin's heat or rut was a powerful, scent-based, fated-mate kind of magic. And as a failed, tail-less fox... I was a social blank. I had no pheromones. I was aromatically neutered. I couldn't attract a beast, even if I was a perfect 10/10. I collapsed back on the cot. So I can't attract a husband. That's the whole point of the game. It's literally unwinnable. ...or is it? My gamer brain flickered. The game's title wasn't "Seduce a Bachelor." It was Beastly B.A.D.s(Bachelors, Aristocrats & Dads). And what did those B.A.D.s have in common? They're all single dads. Or guardians. My mind, my meta-knowledge, suddenly lit up like a quest log. [Target: Marquis Rurik Jaeger (Wolf)] Status: Grumpy Widower. Problem: Son, Vali Jaeger. A "Demon Cub" who only eats raw meat and bites everyone. [Target: King Caspian de Maris (Merman)] Status: Desperate Widower. Problem: Son, Prince Orion. A "Frail Cub" who refuses all food and is wasting away. [Target: Duke Lucien Crepusci (Panther)] Status: Tragic Widower ("It's Complicated"). Problem: Son, Silas Crepusci. A "Silent Cub" who just stares and might be a tiny, traumatized sociopath. [Target: General Rajah Khanda (Tiger)] Status: Honorable, Overwhelmed Widower. Problem: Son, Arjun Khanda. A Hyperactive Cub who thinks he's a tiny soldier and trains by destroying furniture [Target: Archduke Cassian Argentis (Snake)] Status: Scheming... Bachelor? (Guardian) Problem: Younger brother, Jasper Argentis. A Delicate cold-blooded child who is always cold and needs highly specialized food. I stared at the dusty wall. The game wasn't about pheromones. The entire game is a childcare nightmare. The cubs. It's all about the cubs. Vali is aggressive because his diet is terrible. Orion is frail because he's malnourished. Silas is traumatized and needs comfort food. Arjun is hangry. Jasper is cold. I... I can fix all of them. I'm not a failed fox-kin. I'm a Top Chef. I've made five-course meals for Michelin judges. I've plated 300 perfect appetizers in an hour. I can absolutely handle a few problem cubs. A way to a man's heart is through his stomach. That's the old saying. But I've just found a better one. The way to a B.A.D.'s heart... is through his cub's stomach. I stood up. I had a plan. I wasn't going to be sold off. I was going to leave. But I needed startup capital. I unbolted the door, they hadn't even locked it properly and marched back down the crumbling stairs. They were all still in the parlor, probably dividing up my (non-existent) dowry. Aunt Petunia, Uncle Barnaby, Lupin, and Cassia all looked up in surprise. "What are you doing out of your room?" Aunt Petunia shrieked. I ignored her and walked straight up to my uncle. "You want me gone?" I asked, my voice surprisingly steady. "You want to be 'free' of the failed Primrose?" Uncle Barnaby blustered. "Now, Prim... it's not... we're just... it's for your own good..." "Save it," I said, cutting him off. I turned to Lupin. "You want me to disappear. I want to disappear. So let's make a deal." Lupin's amber eyes narrowed. "A... deal?" "You're terrified of the scandal, right? Terrified that Lord Jaeger will find out you're a poacher-by-proxy? Terrified that I'll run my mouth to Marquis Grieve and ruin your own marriage prospects?" I had them. Their pale faces were all the confirmation I needed. "I'm not marrying the Marquis," I stated, as if it was a simple fact. "I'm leaving. Today. I'm going to the capital to start my own business." "With what?" Cassia scoffed. "You don't have a single coin!" "That's where you come in," I said, smiling sweetly at my aunt and uncle. "You're not going to 'sell' me to the Marquis. You're going to invest in my freedom. Give me a small severance...just enough cash to rent a small shop and get started. Just a fraction of what you'd save by not having to pay my dowry or bribe the Marquis." "And if we don't?" Lupin sneered, trying to get his confidence back. "Then I'm going to walk right back to the Jaeger hunting grounds," I said, my smile never wavering. "And this time? I'm going to make damn sure Lord Rurik Jaeger finds me. And I'm going to tell him exactly who sent me." The room was silent. Aunt Petunia looked at Uncle Barnaby. Uncle Barnaby looked at Lupin. Lupin was the first to break, his handsome face twisting. "You? Go to the capital? You think it's that easy?" he scoffed. "You're a tail-less nobody. You think you can just survive in the capital with a few coins? You'll be..." "Lupin, hush!" Aunt Petunia snapped, her voice surprisingly sharp. She turned to me, her mousy features tight with calculation. A new, ugly kind of hope was dawning in her eyes. "A severance. You want... a 'severance' to leave?" "Just enough to rent a small shop and buy ingredients," I said, keeping my voice cool. "And in return, you never see me again. I'm no longer your problem. I'm just a... distant relative who moved away." "Petunia, are you mad?" Uncle Barnaby started, but she shot him a look that shut him up. "Fine," Aunt Petunia said, a slow, thin smile spreading across her face. "Fine. You want to go to the capital? Be our guest." I almost sighed in relief, but I caught her expression. She was accepting way too fast. Oh, I see. I knew exactly what Lupin was implying, and I knew exactly why my aunt just agreed. They didn't think I was going to the capital to succeed. They thought I was going there to die. To them, this was the perfect solution. A failed twenty-year-old fox-kin with no tail, no pheromones, and no protection, alone in the cutthroat capital? She was past her debut, practically a spinster. She'd be chewed up and spat out before the first snow. They'd be free of me, and they wouldn't even have to dirty their own hands. Marquis Grieve, Lord Jaeger, or a capital city alleyway... as long as I disappeared, they didn't care which one claimed me. "A pleasure doing business with you, Auntie," I said, my smile turning genuine for the first time. They thought they were sending me to my Bad End. But they were wrong. ... Chapter 3: Hijacking the Normal Mode Heroine’s Rescue Scene. Aunt Petunia shoved a small, insulting-ly light bag of coins into my hand, and I was on the next carriage to the capital before they could change their minds. The journey was long, cold, and bumpy. I spent it cataloging every scrap of meta-knowledge I had from `Beastly B.A.D.s`. The Bad End was marriage to Marquis Grieve, and that ticking clock was my only motivation. My plan was to open a Daycare. But I had no shop, no reputation, and not nearly enough money. About two hours from the capital, the carriage jolted to a halt. "Thugs!" the driver yelled. "Everyone, stay put!" I peeked out the window. You have got to be kidding me. A smaller, much fancier carriage ahead of us was stopped. Two burly, boar-kin thugs were trying to wrench the door open, while a third was harassing the driver. This isn't my business, this isn't my business, this isn't my... The carriage door flew open, and a girl tumbled out. She had a cascade of the palest lilac-colored hair and wide, terrified olive-green eyes. I froze. I know her. That was Luna. The Normal Mode heroine. A wealthy merchant's daughter, known for being kind, timid, and... a Bunny-kin. My brain, which was great at pattern recognition, immediately identified this scene. This was an Event Flag. This was the exact scene where the heroine was supposed to trapped by thugs, right before General Rajah Khanda made his grand, heroic entrance, saved Luna, and kicked off his romance route. I looked around. No Tiger General. Just me, a failed Fox-kin, and a bunch of very real, very armed thugs. Oh, for... I wasn't the Easy Mode heroine, and I definitely wasn't a Capture Target, but I was a chef. I rummaged in the small satchel I'd packed with my only worldly possessions: a change of clothes and three jars of high-grade spices I'd stolen from Aunt Petunia's pantry. "Hey!" one of the thugs shouted, finally noticing my carriage. "Looks like we've got two!" I yanked the lid off the Dragon's Breath chili-pepper blend. 'How do I know these ingredients? I have played this game multiple times.' "You're afraid of a fox?" I yelled at Luna, trying to get her attention. She was frozen in terror. "Get ready to run!" The thug lunged for me. I wound up and threw the entire jar of spice-powder right in his face. His scream was glorious. "MY EYES! IT BURNS!" "That's high-grade capsaicin, you uncultured swine!" I shrieked, grabbing Luna's hand. "RUN!" We bolted into the woods as the other two thugs tried to help their screaming, blinded companion. We didn't stop until we were safely back on the main road, miles ahead. Luna's grateful (and very wealthy) merchant-family carriage found us an hour later. Her father was so relieved he was practically weeping. "You saved her! A... a Fox-kin, saving a... a Bunny?" he stammered. "My dear, how can we ever repay you?" Well, since you asked... "I'm actually looking to rent a small shop in the capital," I said, trying to sound professional. "To start a... a culinary business." Luna's father beamed. "It's fate! We own a small property, a former bakery, in the common district! We've been looking for a tenant! It's yours, rent-free for a year. It's the least we can do!" I could have kissed him. "Oh, that's wonderful!" Luna chimed in, finally over her fear of me. "It's the little building right across the street from our family's home!" Of course it is. This was an Otome game, after all. The plot convenience was always dialed up to 11. --- One Week Later My business was a total, unmitigated disaster. The Daycare was officially open. I'd scrubbed the former bakery until it shone. I'd made sample Calming Lavender & Honey Biscuits. I'd even hung up a terribly-drawn sign of a smiling wolf cub and a happy panther cub. No one came. Not a single customer. Not one problem cub. It turns out daycare isn't a concept here. Nobles have nannies. Commoners watch their own kids. My brilliant plan to capture the B.A.D.s was failing because I couldn't even get them in the door. I was sweeping the empty shop for the tenth time that day when a knock came. It was Luna, a bright smile on her face. "Hi, Primrose! I just wanted to see how..." A tiny hand grabbed her skirt, and a mini-Luna peeked out. Same lilac hair, same olive eyes. "And who is this?" I asked, my heart suddenly beating faster. "This is my little sister, Clover," Luna sighed, pulling her forward. "She's a darling, but... she's a terror. My parents are at the merchant guild, and she's already driven off two nannies this week. She's the pickiest eater in the entire capital." I looked at Clover. Clover looked at me. I looked at Luna. A picky eater. A cub-aged child. A proof of concept. "Luna," I said, a slow, brilliant smile spreading across my face. "You look exhausted. Why don't you let me... borrow her for the afternoon?" "Oh, I couldn't! She won't eat anything but plain carrots, and even then..." "Nonsense," I said, already walking to my pristine, unused kitchen. "It's no trouble at all." I looked at the pouting Clover. Then back at Luna. She's not just a cute kid, I thought, my Top Chef game mode finally activating. She's an advertisement. Luna looked torn, but the desperation of a full-time babysitter won out. She gave her sister a squeeze, promised to be back in an hour, and practically bolted, leaving me alone in the shop with my first customer. The... customer... was currently trying to merge with the wallpaper. Clover had found a corner, turned her back to me, and was now a tiny, lilac-haired, pouting statue. "So..." I said, wiping my hands on my apron. "This is a... lovely daycare. Right? Lots of... light?" The pouting intensified. "I have some snacks," I tried, walking over slowly. I pulled out one of the Calming Lavender & Honey Biscuits...I'd pre-baked for my (non-existent) wolf-cub clients. "It's really good. Want to try?" Clover whipped her head around, gave the biscuit a look of such profound disgust you'd think I'd offered her poison, and turned back to the wall. Well, so much for my Demon Cub cure-all, I thought, sighing. This kid is a tougher critic than Chef Ramsay. I tapped my chin. "Okay, new approach." I crouched down to her level. "Look, kid. I'm not gonna lie to you. This is a business. You're my only hope right now. What's it gonna take to make you eat something?" Silence. Then I remembered. What did Luna say? "She won't eat anything but plain carrots..." I looked at the tiny, stubborn bunny-girl. "Of course she does," I muttered, my inner chef sighing. "She's a rabbit. She's genetically hard-wired to be a carrot snob." But as I thought about it, my Top Chef brain kicked in. A diet of 100% plain, raw carrots? No wonder she's a terror. It's a bland, low-energy diet. She's probably cranky from a perpetual lack of flavor and calories. A plain carrot... but what if it wasn't? This world's ingredients were... different. The carrots here weren't just orange; they were Sunburst carrots, with a naturally high sugar content. The honey was Starlight honey, which had a milder, almost floral note. My mind started racing. I didn't just have to give her carrots. I could transform them. "Clover," I said, standing up. "You just sit right there. Don't move." I marched into my pristine kitchen. The little bunny-girl, her curiosity finally piqued by my sudden action, padded silently after me and stood in the doorway, watching. I was in my element. My hands moved on their own. I didn't just grab a carrot. I grabbed four Sunburst carrots, a Fluffy-Yolk egg, a knob of Whisper-Root Ginger, and a jar of the Starlight honey. I wasn't just going to give her a snack. I was going to give her an experience. I grated the carrots, sautéed them just enough with the ginger to release their fragrance, and blended them into a smooth, vibrant-orange puree. I whipped the egg whites, folded them in... this wasn't just food. This was a Sunburst Carrot & Ginger Soufflé. The smell...warm, sweet, with a tiny, spicy kick from the ginger...filled the tiny shop. I heard a small sniff from the doorway. Clover's nose was twitching. Gotcha. I poured the batter into a small ramekin, baked it for exactly 12 minutes, and pulled out a perfectly risen, fluffy, golden-orange cloud. As a final chef's kiss, I drizzled it with a tiny bit of the Starlight honey, which glistened on top. I set the ramekin and a small spoon on the counter, right in front of her. "It's just carrots," I said simply. "Pinky-promise." Clover looked at the soufflé. She looked at me. She was suspicious...this was not a plain, raw carrot. But the smell. She picked up the spoon. She poked the soufflé. It wiggled. She took the tiniest... tiniest... bite. Her whole body went still. Her olive-green eyes went wide. She looked at the spoon. She looked at me. And then she attacked it. The pickiest eater in the capital devoured the entire soufflé in about thirty seconds, her little ears wiggling with every bite. When she was done, she looked up at me, a tiny bit of orange on her nose, and gave me the first, shyest smile I'd ever seen. I grinned, wiping the counter. My first problem cub was cured. My advertisement was officially ready. ... Chapter 4: Miracle Nanny. "So," I said, crouching down to Clover, who was now happily licking the ramekin clean. "You liked that?" Clover's head shot up. She looked at me, her olive eyes sparkling, and then she beamed. "...More!" I blinked. She talks! Luna was going to lose her mind. "More?" I laughed. "I can definitely make 'more.' But hey, I've got a problem, Clover. And I think you're just the bunny to help me." I pointed to the big, blank wooden sign I'd propped against the wall. "I'm trying to get other kids, like you, to come here so I can make them yummy food. But no one knows I'm here. We need to advertise. And... I don't even have a name for this place." Clover tilted her head, tapping her chin with a tiny finger in a perfect imitation of me. She looked at the sign... then at my (terrible) drawings of a wolf cub and a panther cub... then she looked at her own nose, which was twitching. "...Whiskers?" she said, her voice small. My Top Chef brain, which was built for "fast" ideas, immediately seized it. Whiskers. That's... simple. And cute. "Little... Whiskers?" I said, testing it out. Clover's face lit up like a sunbeam. "The Little Whiskers Daycare!" Sold! --- Two Weeks Later The Little Whiskers Daycare was... technically... open. Luna, after she was done weeping with joy that her sister was now talking and eating, had become my biggest champion. She and a very happy Clover had advertised to the entire merchant's quarter. It worked... sort of. I had customers. A few stressed-out squirrel-kin moms would drop off their kids for an hour. A busy badger-kin tailor would leave his son during his lunch rush. It was fine. It paid for ingredients and kept the lights on. But it wasn't solving my Marquis Grieve problem. The First Snow Ball was 11 months away, and I was still a failed fox with no noble protection. I needed to get the nobles. I needed a B.A.D. I was angrily scrubbing a pot, trying to decide if I should just give up ... when the bell on my shop door jingled. I turned around, wiping my hands, a fake "Welcome!" smile plastered on my face. "Hi, the daycare is... is..." The smile froze. Standing in my doorway was the most sophisticated, high-end, "you-are-a-speck-of-dust" man I had ever seen. He was impossibly tall and slender, with the graceful, long-limbed elegance of a Crane-kin. He had sharp, intelligent black eyes and grey hair pulled back into an immaculate, tight queue. His features were handsome, but in a cold, severe way—like a statue. He wore a perfectly pressed black uniform that probably cost more than my family's entire (crumbling) manor. I knew him from the game's wiki. This was Alistair, one of the B.A.Ds chief-of-staff. He looked at my humble shop, his gaze flicking over my hand-drawn sign, and his perfect, thin nose twitched in an expression of profound disappointment. "Are you... The Miracle Nanny?" he asked, his voice crisp and condescending. What a title. I sound like a cleaning product. "I'm Lady Primrose Thistle, the owner of the Little Whiskers Daycare," I said, drawing myself up as tall as my 5-foot-nothing body could manage. "How can I help you?" Alistair sniffed. "My master has heard... rumors... of your success with difficult children. He has a... situation... and requires your culinary services." My heart started to pound. This was it. "And your master is...?" Alistair looked down his aristocratic nose, as if I was too stupid to have guessed. "My master," he said, "is Archduke Cassian Argentis." I froze. The Snake. I hadn't even tried to capture a B.A.D. yet, and the Financial Opportunity, the slyest, most scheming route in the entire game—had just walked right through my front door. My mind raced, connecting the dots. Of course, it was him. Lord Jaeger is too proud and hates foxes. General Khanda is probably still trying to make his son run laps. But Cassian? He's a pragmatist. He heard a rumor about a chef who could handle a picky eater, and he's here to see if that chef can handle his own delicate ward. This wasn't a desperate dad. This was a test. I met Alistair's icy gaze, my backbone straightening. "A situation, you say? Please, do tell me more about this... situation." Alistair's black eyes surveyed my tiny, clean kitchen. "My master, Archduke Argentis, has a ward. His younger brother, Jasper Argentis." He paused, as if the name itself should explain everything. I stayed silent, giving him my best professional chef listening face. "The young master is... delicate," Alistair continued, the word sounding like an insult. "He is of a cold-blooded lineage, and as such, he is... always cold." He gestured vaguely to the warm, sunlit shop. "He finds it difficult to maintain his energy." "A common issue for cold-blooded kin, I'd imagine," I said, my mind already flipping through recipes. "He'd need his food not just nutritious, but served at a precise temperature to help him regulate." Alistair's eyebrow twitched. It was the first flicker of interest he'd shown. "Indeed," he said. "He also has a... highly specialized diet." "You mean he's a picky eater," I translated. "I mean," Alistair said, his black eyes fixing on me, "that all the nannies his grace has hired have been... terrified. Of touching him." He let that hang in the air. I knew exactly what he was implying from the game's lore: Jasper was secretly venomous. The poor kid wasn't just delicate; he was a lonely, walking biohazard that no one was willing to get close to. My Hard Mode situation suddenly didn't seem so bad. At least my cousins only tried to get me mauled by a wolf. "So, let me get this straight," I said, tapping a finger on the counter. "You have a cold, picky, and potentially dangerous child that no one knows how to feed, and you heard a rumor that I—a failed tail-less Fox-kin—could solve a problem your Archduke can't." Alistair looked like he'd swallowed a lemon. "My master is a pragmatist. He is willing to investigate any... rumor... that could lead to a solution. The young master's…condition… is a source of great concern." Aha. So the schemer has a soft spot. "And the nannies you hired," I continued, "what did they try to feed him? Cold milk? Raw-vegetable plates?" Alistair's silence was his answer. I almost laughed. They were treating a delicate, cold-blooded child like he was a common mammal. No wonder the poor kid was miserable. "He's not delicate, he's miserable," I said. "He's cold and he's hungry. He doesn't need a nanny. He needs a chef." I grabbed a piece of parchment and a charcoal stick, my brain firing on all cylinders. "I'll need a full list of his allergies, his current preferred foods, and his core temperature. Also, what's your kitchen's sous-vide setup? And I'll need a high-precision thermometer." Alistair stared at me. The bafflement was gone, replaced by a cold, sharp suspicion. "A... soo-veed?" he repeated, the foreign word sounding ridiculous in his crisp accent. "A... ther-mom-eter? Lady Primrose, what nonsense are you spouting? Are you ill?" Crap, crap, crap! My modern knowledge had completely taken over. I'd just used modern culinary terms in a fantasy world. Idiot! Think! Explain the concept! My mind raced, frantically searching my `Beastly B.A.D.s` meta-knowledge. Wait... I remember this! In the Easy Mode route, there's a side-quest where the Lioness Herione tries to help Cassian. She goes to the Imperial Alchemist... and the alchemist complains that he can't find a cure for the young master's condition, even with his most precise Mage-Glass Heat-Gauge. That's it! And he was using... a controlled alchemical water-bath! They had the tools! They were just using them to find a disease, not poach an egg! I forced a calm, professional smile, my panic instantly replaced by the thrill of having the cheat codes. "Ah...my apologies, Sir Alistair," I said. "Force of habit. They're just... technical terms from a text I once read. A thermometer is simply a tool to measure precise heat. I believe the correct term here would be a Mage-Glass Heat-Gauge?" Alistair's black eyes widened, just a fraction. Gotcha. "And sous-vide," I continued smoothly, "is just a method. You use a controlled alchemical water-bath to cook food at a consistent, precise temperature. It's the only way to guarantee a Temperature-Perfect Meal for a delicate... system." Alistair was quiet for a long, long moment. He was re-evaluating me. The speck of dust was suddenly speaking the language of high-end alchemy. He had come here to test a miracle nanny and had found a culinary scholar. "A... curious set of tools for a simple daycare owner," he said finally, his voice clipped. "Yes, the Argentis estate is equipped. They are not, however, typically used for eggs." "Well, they are today," I said, scribbling on my parchment. "I'm not a miracle worker, sir. I'm a professional. The situation you've described is a culinary problem, and I can solve it. But I don't make house calls without a contract." Alistair's expression was unreadable. "The Archduke," he said, "will require a... demonstration. You will come to the Argentis estate tomorrow at 10 a.m. You will prepare one... Temperature-Perfect Meal for the young master." He pulled an obscenely heavy bag of coins from his coat and placed it on my counter. "This is for your time and ingredients. Do not be late." He turned, his tall frame pivoting with practiced grace, and walked out of the shop. I looked at the bag of gold. It was more money than my aunt had given me for my entire severance. My heart was pounding, but not from fear. From excitement. The Little Whiskers Daycare had just landed its first B.A.Ds It was a test, just like I thought. And as a Top Chef, if there was one thing I never failed, it was a test kitchen. I stood there, staring at the closed door, the bell's gentle jingle echoing in the silence. Then I looked down at the bag of gold on my counter. I untied the drawstring. Clink. It was heavy. I poured a few coins into my palm. They were solid gold, stamped with the Argentis crest: a serpent coiled around a scale. "Well," I muttered to myself, a shaky, slightly hysterical laugh bubbling up in my chest. "Looks like I just skipped the grinding phase." The Snake. Of all the B.A.D.s to show up first, it had to be the scheming one. The one the game-wikis warned me about, the bad romance route that was just as likely to end in a cage as it was a happily ever after. But my Top Chef brain was buzzing, overriding my gamer anxiety. Alistair had been a test, but the real problem was Jasper Argentis. A cold-blooded child. Always cold, picky, and... venomous. Of course the nannies were terrified. They were probably offering him chilled milk and apple slices, treating him like a mammal. The poor kid was probably in a state of constant, low-grade hypothermia. He didn't need a nanny. He needed a private chef with an alchemist's precision. My solution from my quest log was still spot-on: Temperature-Perfect Meals. Food warmed to the exact degree his body needed. Food that would warm him from the inside out. I grabbed the bag of gold. This was a test, all right. But it was also an opportunity. The Wolf Lord (Rurik) hated me on sight. The Tiger General (Rajah) was an honorable, but stubborn, alpha type who wouldn't be the first to ask a failed fox for help. The Merman King (Caspian) was a high-stakes gambit I hadn't been able to pull off yet. But the Snake, the most pragmatic of them all, had just hired me. This is it, I realized. This is the move that unlocks the others. If I, Primrose Thistle, a tail-less nobody, walk into the Argentis estate and succeed where every other expert has failed... I won't be a rumor anymore. I'll be a legend. The Wolf Lord might be proud, but he's also desperate to fix his Demon Cub. The Tiger General needs someone to handle his Hyperactive son. Once they hear that I cured the untouchable Jasper Argentis, they won't care that I don't have a tail. They'll be begging me to take their kids. My grin was sharp. Okay, Alistair. You want a demonstration? I snatched my worn-out cloak from its hook and flipped the Little Whiskers Daycare sign from Open to Closed. "I'll give you a performance." I marched out the door, the bag of gold heavy in my hand. I wasn't just going to the market to buy ingredients. I was going to the alchemist's district to buy my own Mage-Glass Heat-Gauge (I wasn't about to trust theirs to be properly calibrated), the best copper pots in the capital, and every single exotic spice, rare herb, and Fluffy-Yolk egg I could find.

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My eyes snapped open. This was not my studio apartment. This was a forest. A very real, very cold, very where-are-the-park-rangers forest.