Truffle Week started with the ringing of church bells and the blasts of trumpets. Every restaurant worth going to changed their menu to feature truffles, and Chefs competed to earn nominations in the prestigious categories of the Tartufo Awards. Floats and knights and retired truffle hunters paraded through Toral's winding circular streets at night, but while festivities reigned outside, the Cafe Julienne crew were busy working around the clock in some of Toral's best restaurants.

Julienne served the main entree, shoving truffles under the skin of a whole chicken before roasting it. On some nights he managed to make a second dish—truffle parmesan roast potatoes, celeriac hazelnut truffle soup, gnocchi with heavy truffle oil—but his social obligations usually kept him away from the kitchen. He managed it well—everything was a little easier since he had started taking Neccio's nightly tonic. Julienne slept without trouble, and it was usually past dinnertime by the time its effects wore off and his acid returned with a vengeance, at which point he took another tonic and slept easily.

Julienne did well to extract the flavor of the truffle, but it was his team that really shone.

Oliver rejoined their cooking party, revealing the secret drink he had been working on for the past month. When he explained his process, Julienne couldn't believe it—he didn't know Oliver had that kind of skill.

First, he made a wine-based aperitif infused with cardoon and thistle, storing it in oak just long enough to grab its rich notes. Next, he poured fresh bacon fat into it. Once the fat macerated, he chilled the mixture until the fat solidified and could be scraped off the top. He strained it half a dozen times through cheese cloths, getting all of the cloudiness out, then combined it with truffle oil. Another day of resting, another freeze and skim, another cheesecloth, and finally, he produced a truffle-infused drink that became the talk of the town. He even managed to earn a nomination for Most Innovative Use of Truffle.

Mindy made a black truffle cream sauce that the diners would have drunk straight if their manners had let them. At one restaurant, a Blue Jacket asked Mindy to teach them. At another, the Executive Chef had Mindy make nothing but the sauce for hours, producing gallons of leftovers for the week ahead.

On the first night, Yarrow made a haricot bean and truffle mash that was such a smash hit that every restaurant they worked for after that requested he make it again. He agreed to do it a second and third night, but as his confidence grew, he dictated the menu, switching to a lobster and potato salad made with truffled mayonnaise that earned him a nomination for Best Dish by a Blue Jacket or Lower.

The nomination was just another puff of air for Yarrow's rapidly inflating ego. He spoke his mind freely to Julienne in the kitchen, but Julienne didn't mind. What he did mind was the adversarial tone Yarrow took when discussing their future at Cafe Julienne. Time and time again, as he looked over his creations, he challenged Uncle Julienne to deny the greatness of such works. Yarrow invented doubters and naysayers in his head, consumed by a boisterous eagerness to prove them wrong. To show that he could do it. Uncle Julienne, Colby, Pomona, all of them. They'd all have his delicious creations rubbed in their face.

Julienne was almost glad when the award went to Brûlée's white truffle tagliolini. On the last night of Truffle Week—a rare night when the Cafe Julienne crew did not have to work—the people of Toral piled into the roads in anticipation of the final parade. Oliver secured them a spot on the bridge.

"I bet if I was a Lyceum student, I would have won it," Yarrow complained.

Oliver flipped a coin with a truffle on one side and the word 'Nomination' on the other—his prize for his truffle-infused aperitif. "Chin up, Yarrow. You realize what this coin means? When we get back to the Academy, we show them our coins, and bam! Instant perfect scores on the upcoming test. I'll get twenty five points for innovation for this one. You'll get twenty five for freestyle cooking!"

Yarrow scowled. "I wasn't worried about making Yellow Jacket."

"Any achievements you make are good for a year of testing," Julienne said. "You'll be able to use it again at the end of the school year."

"Hm." Yarrow didn't smile, but at least he stopped looking angry as he thumbed his coin.

Julienne sighed. He had come to recognize that all of Yarrow's life had been surrounded with negativity. It was why he saw enemies where there were none. Someone needed to break the cycle. "You did a really good job, Yarrow."

A faint smile, maybe as much as Yarrow could manage, formed in the corners of his lips. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. When people back in Ambrosia City hear about this, they'll be begging for us to cook with truffles."

Mindy groaned. Julienne looked at her with surprise.

"You don't want to cook with truffles?" he asked. "You had Red Jackets looking over your shoulder to see how you made it."

"Yeah, but…" Mindy leaned over the stone wall of the bridge, peering into the water below. "I don't want to get boxed in."

"It's a parade," Oliver complained. "Can you guys perk up a bit?"

Right on cue, church bells tolled and the crowd cheered as the truffle hunters arrived and the parade began. Criers led the way, announcing the names of the hunters that followed. Knights on horseback carried banners with family crests. Trumpeters and drummers and dancers made a racket through the streets. At the back of each procession, an open-roofed carriage displayed a truffle hunter, drawing raucous cheers.

There was Pothos Gallerini, an old Red Jacket who had found a five-pound truffle just a few years prior, a life-size replica of the truffle having been made from bronze and mounted at the front of the carriage. There was Oleander Benuzzi, a Purple Jacket who used three dogs from the same litter, all of them barking at the crowd as they passed. There was Elio Azare, a Black Jacket who had won three Charmant truffles in the last twenty years, using them for himself to gain promotion. On and on these truffle hunters went, each more impressive than the last.

And then there was Figgal Durtnell. He drew little applause as he passed. He didn't sit atop a carriage, instead walking. He wasn't prettied up. He still had dirt on his face as if he had just finished a hunt. He wore no fancy clothing. He wasn't a Chef. As he walked by, most people thought he was some beggar walking along the parade with a mutt that was mangier than he was. Julienne didn't recognize him either. But Oliver did.

"Figgy!" he cheered.

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Figgal jumped—it was the first time anyone in the crowd had called his name. He ran to them, his messy blonde hair bouncing like a bobbling plate of spaghetti. "Little Olive! Come on, Moondrop!"

The terrier—at least Julienne thought it was a terrier—bounded over, his brown folded ears bouncing on an otherwise white face. He caught Oliver's scent and broke into a frenzied sprint, climbing up Oliver's leg.

"Hey, Moondrop! Oh, who's an ugly dog? You are! Yeah? Yeah?" Oliver grabbed the knots in Moondrop's fur and swiveled him around.

Yarrow and Mindy watched the scene with confusion. They hadn't been warned like Julienne had. Figgal had a reputation for two things—being the best Charmant truffle hunter in the world and not looking the part. He had taken the truffle hunting scene by storm, finding the Charmant truffle three years in a row.

To compete in the annual Charmant truffle hunt, hunters had to have a restaurant sponsor—and each restaurant could only have one hunter. In the first year that Figgal won, he had been sponsored by a Blue Jacket Restaurant in a gamble that quintupled their total net worth. The next year, a Red Jacket Restaurant paid him enough to retire twice. The year after that, he could name his price. He named it free, winning the truffle for another Blue Jacket Restaurant just for the love of the game.

When Cafe Julienne first reached out to him, he didn't respond. When Cafe Julienne reached out a second time, he replied saying he must have missed the first letter, not a single word of his response relating to the actual truffle hunting. It wasn't until the third letter that he gave them terms.

Speak to my cousin, Oliver Durtnell.

Julienne had assumed that Figgal would be eccentric but hoped that he would act like a professional. Julienne was wrong.

Moondrop barked and hopped around as Oliver and Figgal tried to put each other into a headlock. Oliver's hand filled with bubbles that he used to smother Figgal.

"Hey, no essence!" Figgal complained as he slunk away. "If you get to use essence, I get to use Moondrop!"

Moondrop stopped barking and perked his ears up.

"Yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you Moondrop?" Figgal cooed. "Take a big bite of your cousin Olive!"

Oliver brushed the dirt from Figgal's embrace. "I'm too flavorful for a dog's palate."

"He hunts truffles, Olive."

"I said what I said."

Figgal feigned an attack at Oliver, making him flinch. Figgal wasn't much bigger than Oliver and didn't seem much older, but he had an undeniable big brother energy over his cousin. Once the dust settled and civility reigned, Oliver looked at his cousin with admiration.

"So," Figgal said. He turned to Julienne. "You must be Julienne."

Julienne shook his outstretched hand, feeling the grit between Figgal's finger webs. "How can you tell?"

Figgal laughed and stuck a finger unceremoniously in his ear and twisted it around. "Well, now that I think about it, I suppose these other two are still wearing orange. But really, I could tell because…you look like a Julienne." He turned to Oliver, speaking as if Julienne wasn't there. "Hey Olive, you think they really pick the best Chef to be a Julienne or do they just pick the prettiest baby?"

"You ever seen his grandma?" Oliver whistled.

"She's my great aunt," Julienne corrected, quickly realizing that he had fixated on the wrong part of the statement.

"No," Figgal said. "But she's gotta be what, thirty, forty years older than us?"

Oliver breathed deep through his nose and shook his head. "Fig, if she was sixty years older, you wouldn't care."

Figgal cackled and slapped Oliver's chest with the back of his hand.

"Okay…" Julienne protested. "Why aren't you in a carriage like the rest of them?"

"Hm? Oh. I thought they'd just have one ready for me. Turns out you have to reserve it."

Yarrow broke into laughter. Julienne contained a sigh. This was the guy taking the truffle hunting world by storm?

Mindy was less concerned with Figgal's flaws and much more preoccupied with his greatest asset. She crouched down and hugged Moondrop against her chest. "What kind of dog is he?"

"No clue," Figgal answered. "Found him on my roof one day."

"On your roof?"

"Yeah. I live out north near all those vineyards."

"He lives in a shack in the woods," Oliver added.

"No shame in that," Fig countered before continuing his story. "One day I'm just lounging around and I hear a thud on my roof. Go out to see this mutt, flea-ridden and stinky as all get out."

Moondrop growled at his master.

"Yeah, you stank and you know it. I figured he fell out a tree or something. I give him a good dinner and set him loose. Couple days later I'm out on a hike and he floats by me."

"Floats?" Julienne asked.

"Turns out, the mutt's got a taste for moondrop grapes. Probably how he got up on my roof. Float wore off. Got to asking around. Local vineyards called him a plague. Couldn't ever stop him from stealing their crop. I recognized the resourcefulness and got him trained up. People give me too much credit. This little guy is the one doing all the work. Hey, do you think I can sleep up in that fancy castle tonight? Moondrop doesn't like inns."

Moondrop panted with approval.

"Sure," Julienne said. He had imagined this introduction would have been formal—a meeting of two Labruscan legends. If Oliver hadn't been there, Julienne might not have believed that Figgal was really who he said he was.

"Oh, and a dinner!" Figgal added.

"Sure." With each passing word, Julienne lost control of their dynamic. "What would you like?"

"How about something with truffle?" Figgal grinned.

"Well, we're certainly well-practiced at this point."

"Cool." Figgal took a white truffle out of his pocket with a casualness that did not suit such an expensive ingredient. He tossed it to Julienne, who nearly froze with shock and just barely managed to catch it.

Yarrow and Mindy both stared.

"So, you still live in that shack?" Julienne asked as he marveled at the treasure in his hands.

"Yep."

"Why?"

Figgal shrugged. "It's home. Don't you got a place called home too?"

Julienne thought of Cafe Julienne and, in a moment of blasphemy, compared it to a shack. He laughed. "I guess. Well, if we're cooking you dinner, we better head back."

"Ah, not yet. One last thing I want to be sure of before we proceed. Payment." Figgal grabbed Oliver by the shoulders. "We got our little Olive squared away?"

"The contract terms have been agreed upon and signed. We'll be heading to the vineyard on our way to the Charmant Valley."

"Perfect! Come on, Moondrop!" Figgal skipped into motion, but Moondrop stayed near Mindy. Figgal laughed. "Dog likes pretty girls. Alright then, Moondrop. Stick with her then. But don't think you're not hurting my feelings!"

Julienne pocketed the white truffle and jogged after Figgal, turning him around to go the right way.

"What contract?" Mindy asked.

"Oliver's about to be a very powerful man, baby," Oliver said as he cozied up next to Mindy.

"Step away or I'll get Cress to take you down a peg," Mindy threatened with a sweet voice and a smile. Oliver's grin disappeared, and he took a giant step sideways.

"Payment for Figgal's services," Julienne explained. "Oliver will receive a barrel of moondrop grapes each year for three years from Cafe Julienne's exclusive supplier."

"Not exclusive anymore!" Oliver cheered.

"He gets an entire barrel each year?" Mindy asked. "That's reckless."

"That's business!" Oliver tried to tackle Figgal from behind, and Moondrop barked and jumped with excitement.

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