Velysara ate all three slices. Slowly. Methodically. Her eyes half-closed, her expression unreadable. She chewed each bite like she was dissecting it with her teeth. Counting the components. Mapping the flavors.
I stood there like an idiot, hands in my apron, watching a dragon taste-test my cooking. The mushroom-herb got a slow nod. The bacon pizza earned a raised eyebrow and a second bite. A good sign. The white pizza with star-flower honey made her pause mid-chew. Her eyes opened.
She looked at the slice as if it had just told her a secret. She finished the last bite and set the crust down.
"Your ingredients," she said. "Where do you get them?"
"The system provides them. I unlock them. Buy them. Cook them."
"The system." She nodded slowly. "I thought so. They're imbued with something."
"Imbued?"
"Magic. Not strong — subtle. Threads of it woven into the grain, the cheese, the herbs. Barely noticeable to most." She met my eyes. "But I can feel it."
I stared at the remaining crust. "The food is literally magical?"
"It settles in the body." She touched her chest. "Warmth. Clarity. The honey pizza left a trace of something else. Lightness. Like standing in sunlight without the heat."
"Minor euphoria," I said. "The system called it that."
"Appropriate." She paused. "I feel calm. Alert. Slightly more tolerant of your presence."
"Was that a compliment?"
"It was an observation."
---
The air in front of me shimmered. Blue text. Brighter than before.
**\[SYSTEM UPDATE DETECTED]**
**\[NEW TAB UNLOCKED: MAGICAL EFFECTS]**
**\[COOKING PROFICIENCY: ADEPT]**
**\[PASSIVE ABILITY UNLOCKED: IRON STOMACH]**
**\[SKILL POINTS AVAILABLE: 3]**
I read the last line twice. Iron Stomach: You can eat anything system-prepared without negative effects. Poison resistance +15%. Food poisoning immunity. No more questionable street meat consequences.
"That's handy."
"What is?" Velysara asked.
I described the interface. She listened with the kind of attention that made me feel like a specimen under glass. A museum exhibit. The Transmigrator Chef, on display.
"The system is grading you," she said. "Improving you. It's invested in your growth."
"Great. So I'm a video game character."
"You're a transmigrator with a culinary cheat code." She shrugged. "There are definitely worse fates."
I let that sink in. A cheat code. That's what I was. Some IT guy from New Jersey who got dropped into a fantasy body and handed a pizza peel instead of a sword. No prophecy, no ancient bloodline, no heroic destiny. Just a pizzeria, a floating menu, and a dragon who'd just told me my mozzarella was laced with actual magic. I should have felt ridiculous. Instead, I felt something closer to relief — because at least now I had a name for the weirdness. It wasn't in my head. It was in the flour.
I opened the new Magical Effects tab. A list appeared.
**\[STAMINA BOOST: MINOR — Active 2 hours after consumption]**
**\[CALM AURA: MINOR — Reduces stress, improves focus]**
**\[MINOR HEALING: TRACE — Mends small cuts, soothes bruises]**
Trace amounts of healing. Minor boosts. Nothing that would win a war on its own. But it was real. Measurable. Repeatable. Consistent.
I allocated my skill points. One to Dough Mastery. One to Ingredient Identification. One to Speed.
**\[SKILLS UPDATED]**
**\[DOUGH MASTERY LEVEL 2]**
**\[INGREDIENT IDENTIFICATION LEVEL 1]**
**\[SPEED LEVEL 1]**
Numbers. Levels. Stats. My life had become a character sheet.
I closed the interface and looked at Velysara. "I know you said you want first access. But what happens when other people find out? When they realize my pizzas do things?"
She considered the question. "They will. Eventually. And then you'll need allies who aren't dragons."
"You know anyone?"
"I might." She smiled. "But that's a conversation for another night."
---
She gave me two more things before I left. A gold coin. Real gold, stamped with a flame motif that matched her gate.
"For the pizzas. And for the novelty."
And a standing invitation. "Come whenever you have something new. I'll be here. I'm always here."
She said it like it was nothing. Like being always here — trapped in a gatehouse for gods-knew how long — was just a fact of existence. I wondered how long she'd been sitting in that room. How many visitors had she had? How many pizzas had she eaten before mine? But I didn't ask. Some questions you don't ask because you're not sure you want the answer.
I buttoned my jacket and stepped out into the night. The door clicked shut behind me, and the High Quarter went quiet. The street lamps flickered, casting long shadows across the cobblestones.
I walked back through the High Quarter in the dark, the gold coin heavy in my pocket. The streets were quiet. The street lamps flickered. The stars were different here than in my old world. Brighter. Wronger.
The system interface was still partially visible at the edge of my vision. The new tab glowed softly.
I grinned in the darkness. The gold coin was warm against my thigh, a solid weight I could feel through the fabric. Real gold. A dragon's payment for three pizzas. I kept touching it as I walked, running my thumb over the embossed flame motif, half-convinced it would disappear if I stopped paying attention. The streets were empty, the shops shuttered, the whole High Quarter holding its breath until morning. My footsteps echoed off the stone walls.
Back at the pizzeria, Al was waiting. He didn't ask questions. Just handed me a glass of water and stood there with his hands clasped behind his back. The candle on the counter had burned down to a stub. He'd been waiting a while.
"Al."
"Sir."
"I think I'm going to be okay."
"An encouraging development, Sir."
I laughed. Actually laughed. It felt good. The sound bounced off the empty tables and hung in the air for a second.
Tomorrow, I'd figure out what else the system could do. What ingredients I hadn't tried? What effects could I stack? What did the skill trees look like?
Tonight, I was a pizzeria owner with a dragon patron, a brother who wanted me dead, a guild to pay, and a cloak-wearing stalker across the street.
And my food was magic.
Not bad for a guy from a world where the most magical thing about pizza was the word "extra cheese."
I pulled out my recipe notes and started planning. The night was still young.