The next day came as usual—sunlight creeping through the ancient arches of the academy, students shuffling in half-asleep, teachers preparing for their early lectures. Dante strolled lazily toward the cafeteria, expecting the usual quiet morning hum.
But today was different.
His eyes widened the moment he rounded the corner. A long, snaking line of students—elves, dwarves, orcs, beastkin, even a few dragonkin—stood patiently in place. The line trailed out from the entrance of the cafeteria and stretched halfway down the courtyard. Teachers, too, stood among them with impatient faces.
"What the hell...?" Dante blinked, voice caught in disbelief. "Did I miss an announcement? Free food or something?"
Then he spotted her—Lytharis, the mischievous elf, standing near the front of the line, arms crossed, an all-too-smug smile on her face.
"Hey, Lytharis!" He grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her aside, avoiding a grumbling dwarf's glare in the process. "What's going on? Did the cafeteria start giving out gold nuggets with breakfast?"
She gave a musical chuckle, the kind only elves could make sound both elegant and taunting. "Let's just say… word got out about a certain boy who created a magical dish that inspired every taste bud on campus."
Dante blinked. "It was you. Wasn't it. You spread the word."
"I have no idea what you're talking about." She twirled a lock of silver hair around her finger playfully.
"And what, pray tell, are you doing with him?"
A voice sharp and commanding cut through the moment. They both turned to see a girl with crimson scales peeking along her neck and arms. Long, flame-touched hair billowed behind her. Zhurong.
"Wait… Zhurong?!" Dante nearly jumped. "How are you—what—I thought you were on home study last year!"
She approached with the graceful wrath of a dragoness not to be trifled with. "Let's just say… a certain fire clan caught wind of a culinary abomination that somehow passed as edible art. Rumor was... the boy who once faced a demon made something so delicious that even elves lined up for seconds."
Zhurong's fiery golden eyes narrowed, her lips curling into a dangerous smirk. "And would you look at that—your first dish… went to her. Care to explain, Dan-teeeee?"
Yup. She was pissed. Dangerously pissed.
"I... I can explain," Dante stuttered. A nervous sweat trickled down the side of his face as he watched an inferno of imagined doom burn behind her smile.
"Go on." Zhurong folded her arms, her aura radiating heat despite the cool morning air.
Dante swallowed. He could already hear the funeral music playing in the background.
---
A few days later…
Far away from the bustle of the academy, high within the snow-kissed peaks of the Ironfang Range of the snowy mountains, the matriarch of the Fafner clan, Matriach Iccia, sat reclined in her velvet-lined chair. Scrolls and ledgers were strewn across her desk—accounts of dwindling resources, tax reports, and endless inventories of weaponry and magical defenses.
"Sigh... To think the mighty Fafner clan has been reduced to this." She rubbed her temples with frustration. "We're scraping coins just to afford defense charms, let alone new armaments. If the demon clans return like they did last year... we'd barely hold the front gate."
She leaned back and gazed at the icy chandelier overhead. "I wonder how that brat's doing…" she muttered under her breath. Her mind drifted to Dante—annoying, cocky, bold. And yet… curious.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud bang as the doors to her chambers swung open.
"My lady!" a voice shouted.
"THRON!!" she snapped, slamming her hand on the table. "How many times must I tell you to knock before entering?!"
Thron, her ever-loyal (and perpetually clumsy) bodyguard, dropped to one knee. "Forgive me, my Lady! But... a package just arrived. From the Academy. Sent by a boy named Dante Ruthwilfer."
Iccia's eyebrow rose.
"There's… a letter attached, and—" Thron paused, face contorted in confusion and insult, "—it appears to be mocking Fafner ice magic."
"Mocking what now?" Iccia stood with force, her regal robes swishing behind her as she stormed out of the room. "Where's the package?"
"In the kitchen, Your Majesty."
She strode quickly, her presence alone parting the castle staff like a blade through fog. Reaching the kitchen, she found her chefs, maids, and butlers huddled around a table, whispering in curiosity.
"Ahem." Her single cough was enough to clear a path.
On the table sat a glass jar. Inside was a strange, murky brown liquid.
She squinted. "What the hell… Is this—?" She turned to the butler. "Is this actual shit?!"
There were audible gasps.
"No, my lady," the head chef stammered. "We—we're not sure what it is."
Iccia narrowed her eyes and picked up the attached note. It read:
---
Hi Lady Iccia. Dante here.
I hope you like the glass jar of brown and light liquid stuff I sent. If you're thinking it's turd, then you're wrong. Just cool it a little with your magic. Make it semi-solid. Once it's frozen a bit, break it and taste it. I can't guarantee you'll like it, but if you do—maybe we can start a little business.
From: Dante.
P.S. You have to suck the cooled liquid once it's iced.
---
Iccia's face twisted in disbelief. "Mockery. Absolute mockery." A blue aura began to swirl around her hands as her magic surged with insulted pride. "To use my clan's noble ice magic... for this?"
She clenched her jaw.
"Fine. Let's play your little game, boy."
With a flick of her fingers, a cool blue mist enveloped the jar. The liquid inside hardened into a semi-translucent brown solid. Her butler broke the glass and gently carved the substance into bite-sized cubes.
"Suck it, huh…" she muttered. Her eyes narrowed as she picked one up.
"Wait—Lady Iccia, no!!" the staff cried out in panic, thinking they should taste it for her sake and safety.
But it was too late.
She placed the cube in her mouth.
A silence fell over the room.
Then...
"…Put the rest in another jar. Do not touch them until I say otherwise."
The staff obeyed without question as Iccia turned and exited the kitchen. She didn't say another word.
Once she reached her private chambers, she shut the door with finality.
"I need to be alone," she whispered to Thron.
When his footsteps faded, the Ice Queen—Matriach of discipline, enforcer of tradition, descendant of frost magic royalty—let out a scream muffled by her pillow:
"KYAAAAAA!!!"
She kicked off her shoes and buried herself into the plush bed, squirming like a little girl who had just tasted joy for the first time.
"What... is this sweetness?!" she gasped. "It's... cold! It's creamy! It's smooth! It's... perfect!!"
---
A few days earlier…
Back at the Academy, Dante was still trying to calm Zhurong's fiery mood while Lytharis snickered nearby.
Just then, Dante noticed the chefs tossing out medium sized white seeds into a firepit to burn the waste.
"Hey! You there!" he shouted. "What are those?"
One chef replied, "Oh, these? We're discarding them. Just white seeds attached to the roots. We only needed the outer husks."
Dante's eyes gleamed. "Can I have them?"
"Sure, I guess. Less work for us."
Dante flipped each of them five gold coins.
"If you have more, send them to my room. Every last one."
He hurried off, leaving two confused chefs and two curious girls trailing him.
Back in the kitchen, he began the alchemical process—roasting, grinding, heating, and stirring with the care of a madman chasing a dream. Hours passed.
"What are you making?" Zhurong asked, nose wrinkled.
"Smell that?" Dante handed each of them a seed.
"Ugh! Disgusting!" they both yelped.
"You smell turds," Dante said with a wicked grin. "But I smell gold. A pot o' gold!"
His laugh echoed with an Irish twang he picked up in a past life. Madness? Maybe. Genius? Absolutely.
By the next day, his masterpiece was complete.
"Finally…" he sighed, collapsing into a chair. "Thank the gods it's the weekend."
Zhurong and Lytharis hovered eagerly. "Can we try it now?"
"Not yet. We need one last touch—cold."
A fellow student lent a hand with a dash of ice magic. Once the mixture solidified into glossy brown cubes, Dante handed each of them one.
"On the count of three… we suck it."
They obeyed.
And in that moment—
"So good!!" Zhurong squealed, nearly levitating with joy.
"It's creamy, sweet, divine!!" Lytharis whispered in awe.
"What is this, Dante?" they asked in perfect unison.
He grinned like a man who had just introduced fire to cavemen.
"…It's chocolate."
---
Chapter 16 — End