"No. That's the thing. Once it reached the working temperature, it held it perfectly. Steady, even, predictable. I didn't have to adjust the heat at all. I could focus entirely on technique."

Mokko adjusted his glasses. "So it does work."

"It works," Marron confirmed. "Just not the way I expected. It's not... it's not dramatic. It doesn't prevent mistakes or make things easier. It just gives me the conditions I need to succeed. If I do my part right."

Patient hands and gentle heart, she thought. Maybe that's what it means. The pot is patient—slow to heat, steady in temperature. And it requires a gentle heart—someone willing to trust it, to work with it instead of against it.

"Three more tests," she said. "Custard, pudding, and preserves. If the pot keeps performing like this—quietly, reliably—then I'll know for sure."

"And if it does?"

"Then I was wrong about being wrong." Marron smiled slightly. "And I'll need to figure out what that means."

[Day 5: Crème Caramel]

On Friday Morning, Marron made custard. It had always been a comforting and beloved dessert--the silky custard, the light-brown caramel sauce, and the way it jiggled slightly when unmolded.

But too many things could go wrong with custard. The texture could be full of holes, or a novice chef could scramble the eggs. Sometimes, if it wasn't hot enough, the custard just wouldn't set.

Today, she hoped her pudding would be a good one.

She made the caramel first, letting sugar and water cook in the copper pot until it turned deep amber. The pot heated slowly, giving her time to watch the color develop, to catch it at the perfect moment before it burned.

The caramel went into ramekins. Then came the custard—eggs, milk, sugar, vanilla, whisked together gently.

She poured the custard over the caramel and set the ramekins in a water bath. Into the oven they went, low and slow.

An hour later, she pulled them out. The custards were set but still had that signature wobble. When she unmolded one after it cooled, the caramel sauce ran down the sides like liquid gold.

Perfect.

Day 5 - Crème Caramel: Caramel color was easy to control. Custard set perfectly. The pot's slow, steady heat is becoming predictable. I'm learning to trust it.

Day 6: Sticky Mango Pudding

On Saturday, Marron decided to make sticky mango rice pudding. It wasn't in her wheelhouse, but she wanted to give it a try. She'd seen photos of it in magazines back on Earth, and drooled at the sight of bright yellow mango custard sitting on a bed of sweet rice.

With a nervous heart, Marron called her System (she hadn't used it in days) and found a recipe with ingredients she recognized.

She added the rice, coconut milk, sugar, and salt into the copper pot.

"This needs to cook slowly," she mumbled to herself. She had to give the rice a moment to absorb all of the liquid.

The copper pot handled it beautifully. The heat was gentle and even, the rice cooking slowly, releasing its starch, becoming perfectly sticky.

While the rice cooled slightly, Marron made the mango layer—pureed mango, coconut milk, sugar, and gelatin. It needed to be warm enough to pour but not so hot it would cook the rice beneath it.

She assembled the desserts in small glasses—sticky rice on the bottom, mango custard poured carefully over the top. Into the refrigerator they went to set.

Hours later, she unmolded one and took a bite.

The rice was perfectly sticky, sweet and rich with coconut. The mango layer was silky smooth, bright and tropical. Together, they were balanced and beautiful.

Day 6 - Sticky Mango Pudding: Rice cooked evenly without scorching. No hot spots. No stirring needed. The pot maintained gentle, consistent heat throughout. This is definitely not ordinary copper.

Day 7: Moodfruit Preserves

Sunday evening, Marron visited the night market with a specific mission: find interesting fruit for preserves.

The market was alive with energy—vendors calling out, lanterns glowing, the smell of grilled meats and sweet pastries mixing in the warm air. She wandered through the stalls, looking at the produce.

And then she saw them.

A fruit display that seemed to be moving.

She approached cautiously. The vendor—a cheerful gnome woman with wild curly hair—was grinning at her.

"First time seeing Moodfruits?" she asked.

"Yes," Marron admitted, watching in fascination.

The fruits in the basket were changing shape every few seconds. One moment an apple, red and round. Then it shifted, becoming a pear, then a banana, then something that looked like a star fruit, then back to an apple again.

The colors shifted too—red to yellow to green to purple, cycling through a rainbow of hues.

"They're called Moodfruits because they can't make up their minds," the vendor explained, laughing. "They cycle through different forms and flavors constantly. The trick is to catch them in the shape and flavor you want."

"How do you catch them?"

The vendor picked up a small wooden mallet from her stall. "You whack 'em. Hard enough to interrupt the shapeshifting, gentle enough not to bruise. It takes practice."

She demonstrated, bringing the mallet down on a fruit that was mid-shift between an orange and a plum. The fruit froze, settling into the orange form, and she handed it to Marron.

"That one's orange-flavored now. Won't change again once you interrupt it. But you have to decide fast—what shape do you want? What flavor? Once you whack it, that's what you get."

Marron stared at the basket of shifting fruits, her mind already working through possibilities.

"How much for a dozen?"

"Ten gold. And I'll throw in the technique lesson for free."

Marron spent the next twenty minutes learning to whack Moodfruits. It was harder than it looked—timing the shift, hitting with the right force, reading the colors to guess which flavor was coming next.

By the end, she had twelve fruits: four locked as strawberries (bright red, sweet-tart), four as peaches (golden, fragrant), and four as something the vendor called "moonberries"—pale blue fruits that tasted like blueberries with hints of vanilla.

"These will make interesting preserves," the vendor said, grinning. "Good luck!"

Back at the Inn - Final Test

Marron arranged her Moodfruits on the counter, still marveling at them. Even locked into their shapes, they seemed to shimmer slightly, as if remembering all the forms they could have been.

She chopped them carefully—the strawberries, peaches, and moonberries going into separate batches. Each batch went into the copper pot with sugar, lemon juice, and a touch of pectin.

Preserves were tricky. The mixture had to boil—actually boil, vigorously—to reach the gel point. But if it boiled over, you'd lose precious fruit and sugar. If it boiled too hard, it could scorch.

Marron started with the strawberries.

The pot heated slowly, as usual. The fruit and sugar mixture began to bubble. Then it started to boil in earnest, the bubbles rising rapidly toward the rim.

Marron watched, her hand ready to adjust the heat.

But the pot seemed to know exactly how high the boil could get before it became dangerous. The bubbles rose to just below the rim—close enough to worry her, high enough to cook properly—and stayed there. The mixture boiled vigorously but never spilled over.

She tested for gel point. Perfect.

The peach preserves went the same way. Then the moonberries, which turned a gorgeous pale purple as they cooked, smelling like summer twilight.

Three batches. Three perfect results. Not a single boil-over.

Marron set the jars aside to cool and seal, then sat down at the table with her notebook.

Day 7 - Moodfruit Preserves: The pot allowed a high boil without overflow. It seemed to know exactly where the danger point was and stayed just below it. After a week of testing, I can say with certainty: this is not ordinary copper. This is exactly what I was looking for.

The copper pot doesn't make cooking easier. It makes cooking possible. It doesn't do the work for me—it gives me the conditions to do the work right. Patient heating. Steady temperature. Reliable results.

It's a Legendary Tool. Just a quiet one.

She closed the notebook and looked at the pot, sitting peacefully on the stove.

"I'm sorry I doubted you," she said softly. "And I'm keeping you."

Lucy bubbled happily from her jar, forming stars.

Mokko smiled. "So you were right after all."

"I was right," Marron confirmed. "I just didn't understand what I was right about. I was looking for dramatic magic—something that would obviously be special. But this pot is special in a different way. It's patient. Reliable. It trusts me to do my part if it does its part."

"Like a partner," Mokko suggested.

"Exactly like a partner." Marron touched the pot gently. "Now I just need to figure out what having two Legendary Tools means. And whether there are more out there."

But that was a problem for another day.

Tonight, she had seven days' worth of excellent food, three jars of impossible preserves, and the certainty that she'd found something real.

Two Legendary Tools.

A food cart that could seal dungeons.

A copper pot that never boiled over—not through force, but through patience.

She didn't know what came next.

But for the first time in a long time, she was excited to find out.

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