The echoes of Solara's shriek had barely faded when a soft, timid knock sounded at the door. All three of them turned to see a young girl, no older than seventeen, peeking into the room. She was dressed in a simple maid's uniform, her hands clutching a small wooden tray. Her eyes were wide with a mixture of fear and awe as she looked at Shin.
"Your Majesty?" she squeaked, her voice barely a whisper.
She shuffled into the room, her head bowed, and presented the tray. On it was a simple, rustic meal: a thick slice of dark bread, a wedge of sharp, yellow cheese, and a small clay pot of what looked like wild honey. It was a world away from the burnt phoenix eggs Luna had attempted.
"My King," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "I brought this from my village. If you are hungry, please... accept this humble offering."
Shin looked at the girl, then at the food. He saw the hope in her eyes, the desperate need to please her new, unknown king. But he also saw the slight tremble in her hands, the way her uniform was a little worn at the cuffs. This wasn't just a meal; it was probably a significant portion of her own rations.
A warmth spread through his chest, a feeling more familiar and comforting than any divine power. He remembered what it felt like to have nothing, to offer the little you had.
"No," he said, his voice gentle but firm. He gently pushed the tray back towards her. "That is your food. Not mine. If you are hungry, you will have a hard time."
The girl's head shot up, her eyes wide with shock. "But, my King..."
Shin offered her a small, reassuring smile. "I'll cook."
The silence that followed his declaration was more profound than any that had come before. The young maid looked utterly scandalized.
"Oh, no, my King! That's not right! That's our job!" she protested, her voice rising in panic. "We cannot allow you to sully your hands with kitchen work!"
"It's alright," Shin said, his smile widening. He felt a flicker of his old self-confidence, a spark of competence in this bewildering new world. "I can cook."
He took the tray from the girl's hands, his movements sure and steady. "Now, where is the kitchen?"
Luna watched the entire exchange, her expression a beautiful, shifting tapestry of emotions. She saw the way he treated the maid—not as a subject, but as a person. She saw the simple, quiet confidence he exuded when he spoke of cooking. This wasn't the arrogant power of a conqueror; it was the gentle strength of a provider. This was the man she had chosen.
A slow, radiant smile spread across her face, filled with a pride so deep it felt like love.
"Shin," she said, her voice filled with wonder. "You're adapting to this world so fast."
From her corner, Solara let out an exaggerated groan of disgust. "You're going to cook? Like a common servant? That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard! A king should be commanding armies, not chopping vegetables!"
Shin just ignored her, turning to the still-flustered maid. "The kitchen?" he asked again, his patient smile never wavering.
The girl, torn between her orders and her king's strange request, finally pointed a trembling finger down the corridor. "Th-that way, Your Majesty."
"Thank you," Shin said. With the tray of simple food in his hands, he walked out of the room, leaving a stunned goddess, a fuming sun, and a very confused maid in his wake. For the first time since arriving in Astera, Shin Nakamura knew exactly what he was doing.
The royal kitchen was, to put it mildly, a disaster zone. A thick haze of smoke and regret hung in the air, mingling with the acrid smell of burnt... something. Servants scurried about, trying to salvage what they could from the blackened stove, which now looked more like a modern art piece than a cooking appliance. They froze when Shin entered, their eyes wide with alarm.
But Shin didn't see chaos; he saw a challenge. He calmly stepped over a broken pot and surveyed the damage. His eyes scanned the counters, past the shattered ceramic and melted utensils, and landed on a familiar object.
It was the frying pan. The same ornate, silver frying pan Luna had used to smack Solara on the head. It was lying on a relatively clean counter, gleaming innocently. He picked it up. It was heavy, but perfectly balanced, with a comfortable grip. A weapon of domestic discord, now repurposed for creation.
He ignored the panicked whispers of the servants. "My King, please, allow us!" "We will prepare something at once!"
He simply held up a hand, and they fell silent. He then turned his attention to the pantry. What he saw made him smile. It was different, yet the same. There were large, speckled eggs with shells that shimmered faintly—undoubtedly the phoenix eggs Luna had mentioned. There were slabs of cured meat, redder than any beef he'd ever seen. And there were root vegetables with vibrant, almost glowing colors, alongside bunches of herbs that smelled like a mix of rosemary and something sweeter, like starlight.
The principles were universal.
With a newfound confidence, Shin rolled up the sleeves of his silk shirt. He moved with a practiced ease that mesmerized the watching staff. He diced the glowing vegetables with swift, precise movements. He cracked the shimmering eggs into a bowl, their yolks a brilliant, fiery orange. He found a block of hard, sharp cheese and grated it.
He heated the silver pan over a magical flame that sprang to life with a flick of his wrist. A bit of oil, the sizzle of the meat, the aroma of sautéing vegetables... It was a symphony of familiar sounds and smells. The servants stopped their cleaning and just watched, their mouths slightly agape. They had never seen anyone, not even their most skilled chefs, work with such calm, focused efficiency.
Soon, a new aroma began to fill the kitchen. It wasn't the smell of burnt offerings or divine failure. It was the rich, savory, undeniably delicious scent of a proper, hearty meal being cooked with care.
It wasn't just a smell; it was an event. It seeped under doors, drifted down grand hallways, and climbed stone staircases. Guards stood a little straighter, their stomachs rumbling. Scribes paused their quills, sniffing the air in confusion. It was the smell of home, of comfort, of a skill far more ancient and powerful than any magic.
Back in the royal chamber, Solara was still fuming, her arms crossed, a permanent scowl etched on her face. "This is an insult. A king, cooking? I should report him to the... to myself!"
Luna simply smiled, watching her sister's theatrics with amusement.
Then, a tendril of the aroma snuck into the room.
Solara's tirade faltered. Her nose twitched. Her scowl wavered, replaced by a look of intense, primal curiosity. The smell was... incredible. It was warm and inviting, a promise of satisfaction that bypassed all her divine pride and went straight to her very mortal stomach.
A single, glistening bead of drool formed at the corner of her mouth before she quickly wiped it away, her face burning with shame. She refused to look at Luna, who now wore a knowing, utterly triumphant smile.
The Sun, it turned out, was not immune to the charms of a good breakfast.