As we step into the kitchen, a powerful wave of nostalgia crashes over me, instantly dragging me back to my days working in restaurant kitchens on Earth.
The familiar chaos hits me all at once.
Metal clangs against metal. Cooks shout orders over one another. The air is thick with the mouthwatering aroma of sizzling meat, simmering broth, freshly baked bread, and fragrant spices. Heat pours from the roaring stoves and charcoal grills, clinging to my skin until I'm sweating within seconds. Even the floor beneath my feet is slightly slick with oil and water, forcing me to watch every step.
It's exactly the same.
A chaotic symphony of organized madness.
My eyes are immediately drawn toward the grill, where an enormous sheep Furren stands over a roaring bed of charcoal. The man is an absolute mountain of muscle, his broad shoulders and powerful arms glistening with sweat as curved horns rise proudly from his head.
He moves with astonishing confidence.
Gigantic skewers spin effortlessly in his hands before slamming onto the glowing iron grill.
BAM!
BAM!
BAM!
The thick metal bars hiss violently as fat drips into the flames, sending sparks dancing into the air. Smoke rises in fragrant waves, wrapping the meat in a rich, smoky aroma. His eyes never leave the fire. Every movement is smooth, confident, and powerful, as though years of experience have transformed grilling meat into pure instinct.
Across from him, a sheep Furren woman commands an entire line of enormous stew pots. Steam billows around her like dense morning fog, yet she moves through it without hesitation. One moment she's stirring a pot, the next she's tasting another, adjusting seasonings effortlessly. Pinches of herbs and spices fly from her fingertips without so much as glancing at a measuring spoon. Her hair sticks to her forehead with sweat, but her hands never slow for even a second.
Nearby, a younger sheep Furren works at the preparation station.
Her knife flashes so quickly that it almost becomes impossible to follow.
Chop.
Chop.
Chop.
Chop.
The steady rhythm echoes throughout the kitchen, each stroke clean, precise, and impossibly fast. Carrots, onions, potatoes, and herbs disappear beneath her blade, transformed into neat, uniform piles within seconds.
Behind her, another Furren darts between several ovens, pulling out tray after tray of freshly baked pies. The sweet scent of butter and berries fills the air each time an oven door swings open. No sooner are the pies plated than he's already moving again, whisking together thick milkshakes in a blur before rushing to the next order.
And then come the waitresses.
They burst through the kitchen doors one after another, calling out orders loudly.
"WALKING IN! TWO SKEWERS, TWO POTATO CREAM STEWS, GREEN SALAD! ALL LARGE! TABLE FIVE!"
"WALKING IN! FIVE FILOAN DRUMSTICKS! TWO MILKSHAKES! TABLE TWO!"
The orders crash through the kitchen like relentless waves, one after another without pause.
"HEARD!"
"ON IT!"
"THREE MINUTES!"
Voices answer from every direction. No one wastes a single movement or repeats an instruction twice. Despite the deafening noise, every person somehow understands exactly what needs to be done.
Off in one corner, three more workers are stationed at the washing area—a wolf Furren alongside two muscular human men. Their arms move almost mechanically as they scrub, rinse, dry, and stack an endless mountain of dirty dishes before another pile immediately replaces it. The clatter of plates and cutlery never seems to stop.
Yep.
This really is just like every professional kitchen back on Earth.
It's noisy.
It's hot.
It's unbelievably chaotic.
It's absolute hell.
And somehow...
That's exactly what makes it beautiful.
****
"Felicia."
Lilly smiles proudly as she gestures around the bustling kitchen.
"As you can see, my whole family works here."
She points toward the giant at the grill.
"My oldest brother handles the meat."
Next, she gestures toward the woman surrounded by steaming pots.
"My mom takes care of all the soups and stews."
Finally, she motions toward the prep and dessert stations.
"And my older brothers and sisters handle the ingredients, baking, and plating."
Although she smiles, I can't help noticing a trace of exhaustion in her voice.
"It looks like a lot of work... because it is."
She lets out a small, helpless laugh.
"We've tried hiring extra people before, but most of them quit after only a few days. They just couldn't keep up with the workload, even though we pay pretty well."
I nod almost immediately.
I understand exactly what she means.
A busy kitchen isn't supposed to look calm. This kind of organized chaos only exists when every station is operating at full speed, each one flowing seamlessly into the next like gears inside a perfectly tuned machine. Every worker knows their role, trusts everyone else's timing, and every second counts.
In truth, professional kitchens are among the most demanding workplaces there are.
The pressure is relentless.
The pace never slows.
One mistake can delay an entire line of orders.
If you're not mentally prepared for it... you won't survive even a single shift.
But me?
I can already feel my heart beating faster, as the old excitement I thought I'd left behind begins burning in my chest once again.
I want this job so god damn badly now.
"Alright," Lilly says. "Follow me."
She leads us through the organized chaos until we arrive at a much quieter room tucked away behind the kitchen. The constant shouting and clanging become noticeably muffled once the heavy wooden door closes behind us.
The moment she pushes open another door, my entire body instinctively stiffens.
A gigantic sheep Furren sits behind a sturdy wooden desk, his sheer size making the room feel several times smaller than it actually is. Years of working in the kitchen have carved his body into solid muscle, his thick forearms resting casually on the tabletop. His beard is slightly singed around the edges, probably from standing over open flames every day, and beside him sits a large bottle filled with something that looks suspiciously alcoholic.
Then his eyes meet mine.
Despite being a sheep...
That's the eye of a dangerous predator.
Sharp.
Confident.
Full of intimidation.
For a brief moment, I suddenly feel incredibly small.
Eris, however, doesn't seem bothered in the slightest.
"Sup, old man. How've you been?" she greets him casually, as though she's talking to an old friend instead of a mountain-sized bear disguised as a sheep.
The giant immediately breaks into a broad grin.
"Ey, Eris!"
His booming laugh practically shakes the room.
"Didn't know you wanted to work in my kitchen!"
"Not her, Dad," Lilly says with an amused smile, pointing her thumb toward me. "It's Felicia."
His thick eyebrows rise.
"Oh?"
He leans forward, bringing his enormous face a little closer as his squinting eyes slowly examine me from head to toe, as though trying to figure out exactly what kind of person has wandered into his inn.
A second later, he bursts into hearty laughter.
"Ahahaha! Sorry about that!"
He scratches the back of his head.
"You're so tiny I almost didn't notice you standing there!"
****
I flinch.
Okay.
Ouch.
His booming laughter fills the entire room, so deep and powerful that it almost feels like it has physical weight. Even the bottle sitting on his desk gives a tiny rattle from the force of it.
"My name's Gordon!" he says, flashing a broad grin. "I'm the owner of this place. Nice to meet you!"
I hesitate for the briefest moment before reaching out to shake his hand.
The instant our hands meet, I'm struck by how enormous his is. His palm completely engulfs mine, rough and calloused from years of hard work over blazing stoves and charcoal grills. His grip is firm enough to remind me of his incredible strength, yet careful enough that I don't feel the slightest hint of pain.
For someone who looks so intimidating...
His handshake is surprisingly gentle.
"I'm... I'm Felicia! Nice to meet you too, Mr. Gordon!"
I do my best to sound confident, though I'm fairly certain he can hear the nervousness hiding beneath my voice.
The smile gradually fades from Gordon's face.
His expression becomes noticeably more serious.
"So..."
He leans back slightly in his chair and folds his thick arms across his chest, his sharp eyes locking onto mine.
"You really want to work in my kitchen?"
"You know this isn't easy work."
The moment I hear those words, I immediately understand.
This isn't a conversation.
It's an interview.
He's testing me, sizing me up, trying to figure out whether I'm actually cut out for this job.
Well...
I'm not about to let him underestimate me!
"I don't mind at all!"
I straighten my back and meet his gaze as confidently as I can.
"I'd like to apply for the prep cook position, please!"
"Hmmm..."
Gordon studies me for several long seconds. His eyes slowly travel from the top of my head all the way down to my feet before making the journey back up again. It feels less like he's looking at me and more like he's carefully inspecting a piece of equipment before deciding whether it's worth buying.
"You sure about that?" he finally asks. "You don't exactly look like someone who can handle the heat of a professional kitchen."
He tilts his head slightly.
"I think you'd probably make a better waitress."
The suggestion immediately makes me tense.
"Yeah..." Eris says gently beside me. "I honestly think waitress work would suit you better too, Felicia."
I understand why she's saying it.
Compared to working in the kitchen, being a waitress is far less physically demanding. The workload is lighter, the environment isn't nearly as stressful, and considering I now look like a small, adorable catgirl...
It probably does seem like the obvious choice.
But...
No.
Absolutely not!
The mere thought of working in the dining area makes my stomach twist into knots.
After what happened with those drunken motherfuckers earlier, the idea of spending every day smiling at strangers and serving tables fills me with dread.
I don't want to risk going through something like that again.
The kitchen may be hotter, harder, and far more exhausting.
But behind those swinging doors...
I'd feel safe.
"Please!"
Without realizing it, I take a step forward.
"I really love cooking! I just want to work in the kitchen!"
My heart pounds loudly inside my chest, but I refuse to lower my eyes.
Gordon leans back in his chair, still looking unconvinced.
"I'm sorry if this sounds rude," he says honestly, "but you really don't seem like the type who belongs in a kitchen."
"Please."
I clench my fists at my sides.
"I might not look very strong, but I'm really good with a knife. Don't underestimate me!"
The words come out louder than I intended, almost echoing through the room.
After that...
Silence falls.
Gordon simply watches me, saying nothing.
His expression reveals nothing at all.
Then, taking one slow breath, I gather every ounce of courage I have.
"Test me."
The words leave my mouth before I have time to second-guess them.
"Please... just give me one chance to prove myself!"
For several long seconds, Gordon continues staring at me without saying a word.
Then...
A deep, rumbling chuckle escapes his throat.
"Heh."
The corners of his mouth slowly lift into a grin.
"Alright. I like that attitude."
He gives a single approving nod.
Then, turning toward the door, he raises his voice.
"Lilly."
"Yes, Dad?"
"Bring me a chef's knife and a basket of vegetables."
A broad smile spreads across his face as he looks back at me.
"Let's see what this little lady's really capable of."