If Creator Was In Ninjago (Volume 1)

Chef Job (Chapter 3)

~LucasV point of view~

A few hours had passed since I had been watching Lloyd and his studies. My curiosity satisfied for the moment, I decided it was time to focus on myself. Even though I was stuck in a child’s body, I knew I needed a place to stay and a job to support myself. 'I can’t just wander around like this forever… I need to figure out my next steps,' I thought, wandering through the streets of Jumagi Village once more.

As I walked, my eyes landed on a small restaurant nestled between the village’s busy shops. The delicious aroma wafting from it drew me closer. 'Maybe they’ll let me work here,' I thought hopefully. Gathering my courage, I stepped inside slowly, the warm atmosphere washing over me.

The moment I entered, the restaurant owner noticed me and approached with a curious, confused expression. She was an older woman, with a kind yet worn face. "Hello there, young boy. What are you doing here all alone?" she asked gently, her eyes scanning me as if trying to figure out what brought a child into her establishment.

I tilted my head, feeling a bit nervous, but I managed to answer. "I want to find a job… if it’s okay, could I work here as a chef?" My voice was steady, though I felt the weight of my request. I hoped that despite my appearance, they would take me seriously.

The owner’s eyes widened in surprise, and she glanced at the other patrons in the restaurant, unsure of how to respond. Some of the people exchanged puzzled looks, whispering amongst themselves. It was clear that no one expected a child to come asking for a job, especially as a chef. The silence grew awkward, and I could feel the weight of their judgment.

Just then, a man stood up from his table and swaggered over to me, smirking as he looked down at me. His presence was imposing, and I could sense the arrogance radiating from him. "A kid like you? A chef?" he scoffed, his voice dripping with condescension. "What makes you think you can handle that? You’re barely tall enough to reach the counter."

I felt a wave of frustration build up, but I kept my expression calm. 'I’m not just any kid,' I thought, clenching my fists subtly. But I couldn’t reveal everything, not yet.

"I may be young, but I know my way around the kitchen," I replied confidently, keeping my gaze steady. The man raised an eyebrow, clearly amused but still skeptical.

The restaurant owner watched the exchange quietly, her brow furrowed in thought. After a moment, she stepped forward, placing a hand on the man’s arm to stop him from saying anything further. "Wait," she said softly, turning her attention back to me. "You really think you can cook?"

I nodded earnestly. "I can prove it," I said, determination lacing my voice.

The woman hesitated for a moment, then gestured toward the kitchen. "Alright, let’s see what you can do." Her tone was cautious but open, and I could tell she was giving me a chance, though perhaps reluctantly.

Without wasting any time, I headed toward the kitchen, ready to prove myself. 'This is my chance,' I thought, 'to make a place for myself in this village…'

As I was guided into the kitchen, I scanned the area quickly, assessing everything. The kitchen was bustling, with ingredients spread across the counters and chefs moving with practiced ease. The owner gestured toward the kitchen’s station, where I would be cooking alongside an arrogant chef who clearly doubted me. He stood at the other side, smirking in my direction, but I pushed aside any irritation.

The owner stepped forward and explained the challenge. "The dishes here are new and fresh. You can use any ingredients you like, but be mindful—there’s a limit." She looked between us, expecting both of us to take this seriously. I nodded in understanding.

The arrogant chef’s smirk grew wider as he scoffed, "You can't do it, kid. Just give up already. Kids like you don’t belong in the kitchen."

I shot him a glare, feeling the fire ignite in my chest. "Why don't you shut your mouth and focus on cooking instead?" I retorted, my voice calm but edged with annoyance. He looked taken aback for a moment, but the owner raised her hand, signaling us to begin.

As the challenge started, I quickly gathered my thoughts. 'What should I make?' I asked myself, and then it hit me—mochis. A simple but delicate dish that required precision. I knew I could make them well, and with different flavors, I could impress everyone here.

I watched as the arrogant chef picked his ingredients, moving with confidence. Without missing a beat, I dashed next to him and swiftly grabbed the ingredients I needed for my mochis—rice flour, sugar, water, and a few flavorings—working as quickly as my small hands would allow. Before he could even react, I was back at my station, ready to get started.

The memories of making mochis flowed back to me, clear as day. I began the process, focusing on every step. The dough had to be just right—soft, pliable, and perfectly smooth. I worked fast but with precision, ensuring each step was done carefully.

'The dough needs time to set,' I thought, glancing at the mixture as it rested. While waiting, I quickly searched for plates, knowing I would need to present the mochis well. The kitchen was lively around me, with the other chef working just as intensely, but I was too focused on my task to care.

I prepped the different fillings—red bean paste, green tea, and even a surprise chocolate filling. As the dough finally reached the right consistency, I began shaping the mochis, handling them with the care they required. Each one was a delicate balance, but I was determined to show that I could do this, no matter what the others thought.

With the mochis nearly ready, I smiled to myself. 'Just a few more minutes and the dough will be perfect.' I could already imagine the reaction once they tasted my work.

After the mochis were perfectly done, I carefully arranged them on a plate and placed them in the fridge for a bit. Cold mochis always had that perfect, refreshing texture and flavor. While I waited, I couldn’t help but glance at the arrogant chef beside me, who was busy plating his dish with the same smug expression plastered on his face.

A few minutes later, I took the mochis out of the fridge and set them on the table, right next to his dish. He shot me a condescending smirk. "Look at your food, it’s not going to taste any better just because you put it in the fridge," he sneered, but I chose to ignore him.

"Why don’t we just sit and watch their reactions?" I said, giving him a small smile as I positioned myself to observe the moment of truth. He crossed his arms confidently, standing beside me.

The owner and the waiters approached the table, first sampling his dish. They smiled, nodding approvingly, and exchanged a few compliments. His smirk widened, and he looked at me triumphantly, as if victory was already his. But I stayed calm.

Then, they moved on to my mochis.

At first, when they took their first bite, they froze, their expressions unreadable. The arrogant chef chuckled and leaned toward me, whispering smugly, "Looks like I won, little brat."

I kept smiling, watching the scene unfold. Slowly but surely, a smile spread across the owner's face, followed by the waiters.

"I don’t think so," I replied quietly as one of the waiters beamed.

"Oh my god, this is really good!" one of the waiters exclaimed, taking another bite eagerly.

"Yeah, it’s so sweet and soft!" another chimed in as they all reached for more, ignoring the arrogant chef’s dish in favor of my mochis.

I glanced over at the chef, who was staring, slack-jawed, as the staff practically devoured my dish, leaving his barely touched. His smug expression disappeared, replaced with disbelief.

"Looks like I did just fine," I said, giving him a small nod. The satisfaction of seeing their reactions was more than enough for me.