"GET AWAY FROM MEEE—ah!"
The scream pierced the quiet night, sudden and shrill.
Outside, seated at his aluminum camping table, Tobey didn't even flinch. He held a stick of charcoal in his large hand, adding a delicate shade to the iris of the sketch on his pad—a hyper-realistic human eye.
He paused for a fraction of a second, the charcoal hovering over the paper, then calmly resumed his stroke. He wasn't startled. Thanks to his Vitality of the Ancients, his hearing was sharp enough to pick up the shift in her breathing pattern minutes ago. He had heard her heart rate spike from sleep to waking panic. He knew the scream was coming.
He just shrugged his broad shoulders and kept drawing, deciding to let her process her surroundings first.
Inside the tent, Peony was hyperventilating.
The last thing she remembered was the terrifying sight of a massive black boar charging toward her stomach. She remembered the squeal, the shaking ground... and then blankness.
She expected pain. She expected death.
Instead, she woke up to a soft, warm glow.
"Am... am I in a hospital?" she gasped, her voice trembling.
She pushed herself up, her hands sinking into something impossibly soft. It wasn't the cold forest floor. It was a mattress—a thick, memory foam mattress covered in smooth, high-thread-count sheets.
She frantically darted her eyes around the room.
No, this wasn't a hospital. The walls were made of beige canvas. Above her, a high-tech camping lantern hung from the ceiling frame, bathing the space in warm light. Beneath the bed, her feet dangled over a plush, decorative carpet that covered the tent floor.
Whoosh.
Her heart pounded against her ribs like a trapped bird. Where am I?
She looked down at herself. She was still wearing her dirty traveling clothes—her jeans and coat were dusty, but intact. She patted her body, checking for injuries. No pain, no broken bones.
Then she noticed her left arm.
A pristine white bandage was wrapped professionally around her elbow. She checked her palms; the scratches she had gotten from falling were cleaned and treated with ointment, stinging only slightly.
Someone saved me?
She looked to her right and saw her massive rolling suitcase standing neatly in the corner.
Confusion warred with fear. This room... it looked like a 5-star hotel suite stuffed inside a tent.
Her gaze snapped to the entrance. The heavy canvas door was rolled up, leaving only the bug-proof mesh screen zipped shut. Through the dark netting, she could see the flickering light of a campfire outside.
And sitting next to the fire, illuminated by the flames, was a silhouette.
It was a man. A massive man. Even sitting down, his back looked as wide as a doorframe. Wearing a red long-sleeves shirt and white cargo short.
Who is he?
Peony swallowed hard, her throat dry. She moved slowly toward the entrance, her legs feeling like jelly. Her hands trembled violently as she reached for the zipper of the mesh screen.
Zzzzzzip.
The sound seemed deafening in the quiet night
I don't think he would hurt me... right?
She paused, her fingers gripping the mesh. She looked down at her arm again. The bandage was wrapped with precision—clean, tight, and professional. It wasn't the work of a savage. It was done with care.
He saved me from the boar. He treated my wounds. He can't be a bad guy... right?
Just as she built up the courage to step out, the silhouette outside moved.
The big man stood up.
Peony froze. Her breath hitched in her throat. Seeing him sitting down was one thing; seeing him stand was terrifying. He just kept going up. He was a mountain of a man, towering over everything in the campsite.
The sheer size of him stopped her dead in her tracks. She instinctively took a step back, retreating into the safety of the tent.
The man placed his charcoal pencil on the table and turned toward a massive cooler sitting nearby. His broad back blocked her view, but she could hear the distinct rustle of plastic packaging being torn open.
What is he doing? Is that a weapon? Or... food?
She glanced at her wristwatch. 8:17 PM.
Beyond the campsite, the forest was a wall of pitch black darkness. But here, in this strange clearing, it was bright. A roaring campfire crackled in the center, and a tall, pole-mounted lantern stood at the back of the tent, illuminating the area like a backyard patio.
Peony scanned the surroundings through the mesh.
This isn't simple camping, she realized.
Everything screamed money. The high-tech tent, the expensive furniture, the massive cooler. She even spotted a standalone, enclosed portable toilet structure behind the tent. It wasn't a hole in the ground; it was a civilized, private bathroom.
Seeing the luxury eased her fear slightly. Kidnappers and forest hermits didn't usually have premium camping toilets and memory foam mattresses.
Still, she wasn't taking any chances.
Her hand tightened around the smartphone she had found on the bed. Her thumb hovered over the emergency dial button.
One bad move, she told herself, staring at the giant's back. Just one bad move, and I'm calling the police.
"Um... s-sir? Mister? Hello?"
"Sit on that chair," Tobey said, his voice a deep, rumbling baritone that vibrated in her chest.
He didn't turn around. He continued arranging the ingredients on his makeshift kitchen table, acting as if a celebrity hadn't just walked out of his tent.
Earlier, he had postponed his dinner plans after saving her. Eating alone was boring, and since he had a guest, he figured he might as well wait. He had spent the hours sketching, letting the soup stock simmer, waiting for her to wake up.
"Relax," he added, hearing her hesitate. "I won't eat you."
His ears twitched. Through the Vitality senses, he could hear her heart hammering against her ribs like a drum. Thump-thump-thump.
Fuck. Tobey grimaced. Why does that sound remind me of that shit?
The frantic rhythm triggered a jagged memory—a dark room, a tied-up debtor, the smell of fear. It was the sound of someone who knew they were about to break.
Stop it.
Tobey slapped his own forehead with a sharp smack to dislodge the thought. He took a deep breath of the night air.
"The night is cold," he grunted, trying to soften his tone. "Sit near the fire. You'll freeze standing there."
Peony flinched at his sudden movement but slowly walked toward the vacant camping chair. She sat down stiffly, pulling her coat tighter around herself, her eyes glued to his back.
Tobey went back to work.
On one stove, a pot of beef soup had been boiling for hours over premium Ogatan charcoal, filling the air with a rich, savory aroma. He had already added the aromatics, but the main event was just starting.
He lit two more charcoal stoves with practiced ease.
Tonight's menu was ambitious: Creamy mashed potatoes, Ribeye, and Filet Mignon.
As he worked, Tobey realized something strange. His hands moved with a fluidity he had never possessed before. He knew exactly when to flip the meat, exactly how much salt to sprinkle, exactly how to slice the potatoes for even boiling.
Is this the System? he wondered. He hadn't asked for a cooking skill, but perhaps his Artistic Mastery extended to the culinary arts? Or maybe everything just tasted better when you weren't starving to death.
He placed the pot of peeled potatoes onto the second stove. On the third, he set up a heavy cast-iron grilling pan, letting it heat up until it smoked slightly.
Peony watched him in silence, her fear slowly giving way to bewilderment.
The man sat on a large log, hunched over his work like a bear. He was preparing enough food for a banquet. Steak? Mashed potatoes? In the middle of the woods?
Is he going to eat all of that alone? she wondered. Or is he expecting more company?
But what confused her the most was his attitude.
He hadn't looked at her once. Not a single glance.
She was Peony Haven. She was the face of the nation's biggest cosmetics brand. She had won Best Actress two years in a row. Usually, when men saw her, they stared. They stuttered. They asked for photos.
But this giant? He seemed more interested in his potatoes than in the famous woman sitting three feet away from him.
Tobey continue his cooking. The first one finished first step is obviously the potatoes. He use the pocket pot holder and throw the water in the pot on the side, then transferred the potatoes in the aluminum tray. He will let it rest for a few minutes.
While waiting, he is checking if the steak already in rare tenderness then used the grilling tong to flipped it.
But her heartbeat distracting him. Am I scary?
He took a deep breath as he stand up that made Peony also gasped for air. But Tobey still didn't give her a glance. He walk towards the tent, use his back to secretly take out the new envelope for his personal papers. Then walk back again, but this time, on the direction of the woman.
"Here."Tobey laid out his right hand holding the envelope. "That is my personal documents. Inside, you can see my birth certificate, government and schools id's. If I really harm you, just remember my complete identity and report it to the authority."
Then Tobey return to his stoves and didn't witnessed when she opened the envelope. These are all looks old but preserved papers. She read every details on the papers and the I.D's.
Timothy Gray. He is 28 years old. She looked back again on his back. He is big for 28 years old. She put back the papers in the envelope and place it on the table. That's when she saw the finished sketching of realistic big eye on the first page of the pad.
I'm glad that works. Tobey thought and smile. Somewhat showing his documents calm her down but he didn't know it's because of his sketch works.
"Wow..."
Peony flipped through the pages, mesmerized. Every sketch was hyper-realistic, capturing texture and depth that shouldn't be possible with just burnt wood on paper. The charcoal was monochrome, yet the images felt vibrant, as if each one held a deeper, hidden meaning.
She looked up at the giant hunched over the stove.
"Did you make all of these?" she asked, her voice soft with awe.
"Yes," Tobey replied simply.
He glanced over his shoulder.
For the first time since she arrived, their eyes met.
The firelight danced across his face, illuminating sharp, high cheekbones and a strong jawline. But it was his eyes that stole the breath from her lungs—they were a piercing, electric blue, glowing with an intensity that felt almost supernatural.
He smiled. It was a soft, effortless expression that crinkled the corners of those striking eyes, flashing a perfect line of blindingly white teeth.
"Give me a second. Dinner is almost ready."
He turned back to his work, oblivious to the nuclear bomb he had just dropped.
Peony stood frozen, her hand clutching the sketchpad against her chest.
He's... gorgeous.
The thought hit her like a physical blow.
Peony lived in a world of beautiful people. She worked with A-list celebrities, billionaire heirs, and runway models. She was used to handsome men; she was usually immune to them.
But this man? He was on another level.
She glanced down at the ID card on the table, then back at his broad shoulders.
The photo on the ID showed a man named Timothy Gray—average, forgettable, blending into the background. But the man standing in front of her looked like that man's ultimate evolution.
Is that really him? she wondered, her heart skipping a beat. Did he go through a second puberty? Or is this the most extreme glow-up in history?
Whatever the reason, the fear that had been gripping her chest finally evaporated, replaced by a flustered warmth. It was hard to be terrified of a man who drew like a master artist, cooked like an expert chef, and looked like a movie star.
A few minutes later, the "art session" was officially over.
Tobey returned to the table, his massive hands easily gripping two large aluminum trays. He set them down beside Peony, uncovering the food.
Steam billowed up, carrying the rich, intoxicating scent of rosemary, garlic, and seared beef. On one tray sat a mountain of creamy mashed potatoes; on the other, thick cuts of steak glistening with juices.
He disappeared for another round and returned with the steaming pot of soup.
Gulp.
Peony felt her mouth water instantly. Her stomach gave a treacherous rumble, loud enough to be heard over the crackling fire. She wanted to dive in—she hadn't eaten a real meal in over twelve hours—but she clamped her hands together in her lap, feeling a sudden wave of shyness.
It looks so expensive, she thought, eyeing the marbling on the steak. And he cooked all of this?
Tobey ignored her hesitation. He moved with the efficiency of a waiter in a high-end restaurant. He disappeared into the tent one last time and emerged with a stack of ceramic plates, polished silverware, and—to Peony's complete disbelief—a bottle of red wine and two crystal glasses.
He set the table, the clinking of silverware ringing softly in the night air. He pulled the cork from the wine bottle with a satisfying pop and poured a small amount into a glass for her.
He sat down across from her, the firelight catching the electric blue of his eyes as he gestured to the feast.
"Let's eat."