Chapter 177: The Debut

Words : 1059 Updated : Oct 12th, 2025

The morning air carried the faint chill of the season, but Mcronald’s kitchen was already warm. Inigo stood behind the prep counter, tying the last knot on his apron while Maddy checked the chicken supply. Two sacks sat on the counter, their paper wrapping slightly damp from the ice packs inside. "Two full batches," Maddy said. "If we run out, we run out. No refills until tomorrow." "That’s the point," Inigo replied, checking the fryer oil. "Scarcity builds hype. We sell out, they talk about it." Lyra leaned against the doorway from the dining area, arms crossed. She’d shown up early, bow slung over her shoulder—not because she needed it for work, but because she never went anywhere without it. "You sure about this? If it’s too good, they’ll riot when we close the doors." Inigo smirked. "Then we’ll just give them something to look forward to." By the time they flipped the sign to Open, the street outside was already busy. Word from yesterday’s whispers had spread. Some came for the burgers they’d fallen in love with on reopening day; others came for the rumored new item. Riko, stationed at the register, greeted the first customer with his usual enthusiasm. "Morning! Burgers and fries as always, or are you here for the special?" The man glanced at the chalkboard sign Inigo had set out front: TODAY ONLY — THE GOLDEN FRY SPECIAL.Crispy, Juicy, Served with Fries. "Special," the man said without hesitation. Riko punched the order in, calling back, "One Golden Fry!" Inigo was already at the fryer, the first pieces sizzling in the oil. The kitchen filled with that irresistible smell—spiced batter, hot oil, and the promise of crunch. Maddy stood beside him, working the assembly line just like their test run. Lyra, surprisingly, had taken to coating the chicken with an efficiency that almost made her look like she’d been working in a kitchen her whole life. The first plate went out within minutes—two drumsticks, a heap of golden fries, and a small cup of tangy dipping sauce Inigo had improvised that morning. The customer’s first bite was met with silence. Then a muffled, "Oh." Another bite, and the man’s brows lifted like he’d found buried treasure. By the time he left, the plate was spotless. From there, word of mouth did its job. The line grew. People peeked through the windows, catching the scent and craning to see what others were eating. A group of teenagers who’d come in for burgers switched their orders after seeing the next table’s meal. A pair of older women ordered one plate to "share," only to go back to the counter for two more. "This is getting intense," Riko muttered between orders. "We’re going to run out in an hour." "That’s the idea," Inigo said, though his tone was half-focused, eyes on the fryer. "Keep it moving. No rush on the burgers—priority is the special until we sell out." Lyra slid another coated drumstick onto the tray. "You know," she said, "if you keep this up, we might need a bigger fryer." Inigo laughed. "If this becomes a regular thing, maybe." The flow of customers didn’t slow. Every time the fryer basket came up, Inigo was already lowering the next batch in. The kitchen floor was dusted with flour, the air hazy with heat. Maddy darted between stations, keeping the coating bowls topped up and swapping out oil when needed. Then it happened—about an hour and a half into opening—the last raw drumstick hit the flour bowl. "Final batch!" Maddy called out. Riko shouted it to the dining area, and a murmur went through the customers still waiting. Some groaned. Others rushed to the counter, hoping to get one of the last plates. When the final order went out, Inigo stepped to the service window and announced, "Golden Fry Special is sold out! Thank you for making the launch a hit." A wave of chatter filled the room. Some clapped. Others groaned but still ordered burgers. With the last plate served, the pace in the kitchen finally slowed. Inigo leaned against the counter, wiping sweat from his forehead. "That," he said, "is how you make a statement." Maddy was grinning ear to ear. "We just turned chicken into gold." Lyra smirked. "Better hope no one tries to rob you for the recipe." "Let them try," Inigo said, patting the notebook in his pocket. By midday, the dining area was still busy with burger and fry orders, but the real buzz was about the fried chicken. Inigo overheard bits of conversation as he stepped out front to check on customers. "Crunch like that? Haven’t had it since the capital.""I swear I’d pay double for another plate.""They’re only doing it on special days. I’m coming early next time." Back in the kitchen, Riko was counting the day’s sales. "We made more in the first two hours than we usually do in an entire day," he said. Inigo nodded. "And that’s with limited supply. Imagine if we scale it just enough to keep people coming back without killing the hype." Maddy was already wiping down the prep counter. "When’s the next special day?" "Two days from now," Inigo said. "We don’t want them to think they can get it every time they walk in. It has to feel like an event." Lyra tilted her head. "You’ve done this before." "Not exactly," Inigo replied, "but marketing’s the same anywhere. You give people something worth talking about, and they do half your work for you." The day wound down with steady sales of burgers and fries. The fryer cooled, the flour bowls were emptied and cleaned, and the kitchen slowly returned to order. As they closed up for the night, the air outside had shifted—people passing by were already glancing at the chalkboard, even though the special was gone. Some pointed. Some shook their heads like they’d missed out. Inigo locked the front door and turned to his small crew. "Alright. Day one of Golden Fry is a success. Next time, we’ll be ready for an even bigger crowd." Maddy pumped her fist. "I’m in." Riko grinned. "I’ll be at the register, making sure every single customer hears about it." Lyra just gave a small nod, the corner of her mouth curling upward. "Guess you were right. This is dangerous."

Chapter 177: The Debut

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