Two weeks passed in a flurry of flour, grease, and grease-sared parchnt paper.
By the ti soft launch day arrived, Inigo stood behind the polished wooden counter of The Mcronald wearing a freshly stitched red apron, trimd with golden thread at the edges. He glanced down to smooth a wrinkle over the front, where a simple patch had been sewn with the shop’s na in bold letters. The place slled of toasted bread and sizzling at, warm and savory and welcoming.
"nu’s up," Lyra called from the custor side, nodding toward the board they had mounted the night before. It was painted in deep crimson and bright yellow, just like the chain Inigo rembered back ho. Each item was written in blocky, hand-painted letters: Classic Burger, Double Fla, Potato Frites, Cheese lt, Crispy Bird, and Sweet Brew for their house tea blend.
Inigo tightened his grip on the spatula. "You sure about this?"
Lyra gave him a look. "We faced down a monster in the rift. This is just cooking."
"But this is real," he muttered. "This is everything I’ve dread of since getting here."
She walked up to the counter, resting her arms casually on it. "And now it’s ti to show them why."
At exactly ten o’clock, the door creaked open. Their first custor stepped inside—Elise, the guild receptionist, who wore a cloak over her usual uniform. She blinked at the fresh paint, the warm glow of the hanging lanterns, and the inviting scent hanging in the air.
"This is... cozy," she said. "Slls amazing."
Inigo stepped forward. "Welco to The Mcronald. Today’s a special tasting nu—discounted prices, feedback encouraged."
"You had at ’discount,’" Elise said, pulling out a few silver coins. "I’ll try the Classic Burger and Frites."
Inigo nodded and stepped back into the kitchen. The rhythm kicked in imdiately—grill fired up, buns sliced and placed in the oven, patties slapped onto the iron pan and seared to a gentle sizzle. Lyra prepped the tray, filling a paper pouch with freshly fried potato slices, crispy and golden.
Within minutes, Elise’s tray was ready: a steaming burger wrapped in thin wax paper, a pouch of fries, and a small cup of sweet tea.
She took one bite. Then another. Then stopped.
"By the gods," she muttered, mouth half-full. "This is better than anything I’ve had in the entire district. What did you put in this?"
"Salt, pepper, a few special spices," Inigo said. "But mostly? Just technique."
Elise looked around and waved toward the street. "You mind if I tell the others at the guild?"
"Be our guest."
She didn’t even finish the tray before stepping outside, waving her hand and calling out to soone around the corner. Monts later, two adventurers entered—both silver-ranked regulars that Inigo vaguely recognized from the sparring hall. One of them had already heard the rumor from Elise.
"I heard there’s sothing here that puts tavern roast to sha," the taller one said.
"Line forms here," Lyra replied smoothly.
Within twenty minutes, the place was buzzing. The seating bench by the window filled up fast, and even though there were only five chairs inside, people didn’t seem to mind standing. The scent of sizzling patties and frying potatoes wafted down the street, catching the attention of passersby like a hook.
Inigo manned the cooking station nonstop—grilling, flipping, assembling with practiced rhythm. Lyra operated the front: taking orders, pouring drinks, passing trays with a smile that was both genuine and sharp.
By midday, a line had ford outside.
"You seeing this?" Lyra asked during a rare lull, wiping sweat from her brow.
Inigo looked up from behind a stack of buns. "I think we might need to double the batch tomorrow."
The local blacksmith ca in with his apprentice, still wearing half his work gear. "Slls better than the forge," he grunted. "Give one of those Cheese lts."
Later ca a trio of academy students, drawn by the whispers circulating through the market. One of them took a bite of the Double Fla burger and let out a sound halfway between a moan and a gasp.
"This is criminally good," he said. "I’d trade a week’s allowance for another."
Outside, a pair of stall vendors who ran fruit carts began offering small samples of sliced oranges to custors waiting in line—hoping to ride the wave of traffic. The buzz spread like wildfire. Even the local baker swung by in the afternoon to witness the crowd his buns had helped attract.
"I’ll need more dough," he told Inigo. "You’re gonna bleed dry."
"You keep supplying, I’ll keep ordering," Inigo said, slapping flour from his gloves.
As the sun dipped low and the line finally began to shorten, Lyra and Inigo collapsed behind the counter with two trays of their own. They each picked up a burger, clinked them together like wine glasses, and took a bite in unison.
Still warm. Still crisp. Still good.
"Do you realize what we did today?" Lyra asked, licking a bit of sauce from her thumb.
"I think we just changed this city’s food culture," Inigo replied.
She smirked. "And this is just the soft opening."
Outside, a group of kids peeked in, noses pressed against the window. One of them waved excitedly at Lyra, who gave a mock salute in return.
"Word’s spreading," she said. "By next week, we’ll need more hands."
"I’ve already got plans for that," Inigo said, flipping to a second notebook. "We train part-tirs—keep the recipes consistent, batch the prep in the morning, run two shifts. We can manage."
"You sound like a proper restaurant owner."
"I feel like one."
The door creaked open again, and a well-dressed woman entered. Her hair was pinned back in noble curls, and a jeweled pin glinted on her lapel. She looked around the shop with a calm, assessing eye.
"Excuse ," she said softly. "Is the owner present?"
"That would be ," Inigo replied.
"I’m Celandra Vale, owner of the market square’s rchant syndicate," she said. "I’ve received half a dozen reports about a new food vendor causing quite the stir. I wanted to see for myself."
She took a seat, ordered a Classic Burger and tea, and ate with graceful precision. When she finished, she folded the wrapper neatly and dabbed her lips with a silk handkerchief.
"I’ll be in touch," she said cryptically. "You may want to prepare for a visit from city officials."
As she left, Inigo turned to Lyra. "Is that... good or bad?"
"Depends," she said. "But if the noble rchants are noticing us already? That’s a win."
They cleaned up that evening under lanternlight. Oil was drained. Counters wiped down. Trash taken out. Inigo stood behind the counter once more, staring out at the now-quiet street.
Tomorrow, the lines would return.
But tonight?
Tonight, he’d take pride in knowing he had done sothing few ever could in this world—or any world.
He brought fast food to fantasy.
And they loved it.
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