After the small disaster, Zarkrion Volcanius had managed to lay the girl back down on the sofa.
Her breathing was soft, almost imperceptible, her chest rising and falling slowly, still sunk into unconsciousness for the second time.
Zarkrion remained standing in front of her, watching her with an expression that mixed confusion and insecurity. The elf looked so fragile, so peaceful in that state, that for a moment he felt out of place inside his own home.
"How strange..." he whispered as he crouched down slightly, moving closer. "But why would she have gotten so scared? Am I really that ugly?"
He bit his nails in frustration, a gesture he hadn't done in years, and felt a slight burning in his eyes. Small, stubborn tears began to form without permission.
At that moment, the system appeared floating right above the dragon's head.
["It's good that you at least know that, but that's not what's important here. You need to be consistent and act normal next time."]
Zarkrion frowned, offended and hurt at the same time.
"That too… I already understand."
But the system continued mercilessly:
["Showing up in front of her with that ogre face, anyone would get scared. And I'm not just talking about your ugly face… it's also because you're a dragon in human form. You need to be more delicate with people."]
Zarkrion opened his eyes wide.
"So even with my human form people are still going to get scared? Are you really saying that?"
["Not necessarily. Your human form is basically that of a draconian, and they coexist among humans. The problem here is you."]
["Let's say some more than others. Just be natural and that's it… or could it be that you've spent so much time living in solitude that you've forgotten how to socialize?"]
The blow went straight to his stomach.
Because it was true.
Zarkrion fell silent, watching the girl sleep. His entire life—in this world and on Earth—had been a constant island, an isolated point cut off from the rest of society. He lived and breathed completely apart.
He remembered.
On Earth, he never left his apartment unless hunger forced him to. He never cared about going out to parks, sharing, living. Everything delivered. Everything fast. Everything without interaction.
The only social life he had existed protected behind an avatar in the game, a character that was not him, that would never be him.
He remembered nights spent staring at the stars alone, as if he were part of the urban furniture.
And then he looked at the elf.
A stranger he had found inside the belly of a giant black serpent, and it still didn't fit in his head how she had ended up there.
He sighed, feeling that weight inside his chest.
He extended his hand toward her and activated his system vision.
... ...
[SYSTEM – ANALYSIS]
Race: Elf
Level: 23
Rank: E-
Class: Archer
... ...
Zarkrion rubbed his chin, thoughtful.
"Her level and rank are very low… what was she doing in such a dangerous area of the Black Forest? It makes no sense."
His gaze hardened when he remembered the serpent.
"And even so, she survived inside that thing… if I hadn't arrived, in a few days she would have been dissolved…"
["The black serpent's venom is still in her body. We still can't extract it completely."]
"I can see that. But her wounds are healing quickly thanks to the mana tree," he replied, evaluating the bandages he had placed on her.
He crossed his arms.
"It's only a matter of time before she wakes up and tells me what happened."
["Exactly. If you don't scare her again."]
Zarkrion jumped, startled.
"Damn it! …I never thought I'd do this again, but I'll do it to complete the last part of the tutorial mission."
With a snap of his fingers, his cooking uniform began to glow faintly… and in front of him appeared a white apron. The same apron he had thrown away in disdain when he obtained his uniform.
The system seemed surprised.
["That apron… I thought you threw it away. What is it doing in your infinite inventory?"]
A reddish blush climbed up the dragon's cheeks.
"I wanted to keep it… that's all. It's none of your business."
For the first time, the system seemed to hold back laughter.
Zarkrion headed to the kitchen. He walked slowly, as if each step weighed tons. When he picked up the knife, his hand trembled slightly.
He took a deep breath.
"Everything will be fine… I'll just… cook something for her. That's all… I can do it."
The system appeared again.
["You're too tense. You need to calm down. I understand why you ran away from your culinary abilities… but you can't keep avoiding things."]
"I'm not avoiding anything," he lied effortlessly.
["'It just happens to you'? You haven't set foot in a kitchen since your graduation in gastronomy… and all because of your later failure."]
Zarkrion dropped the knife onto the cutting board, annoyed.
"What are you trying to imply? I don't remember asking you for a psychological therapy session!"
["I am literally linked to your consciousness. Your affairs are my affairs."]
Zarkrion clenched his hands into fists.
"Why do you want me to go back to this? Couldn't you give me a mission that had NOTHING to do with cooking?"
["Yes, there were other missions. But I'm not a system that rewards cowards who run away from their nature."]
"I AM NOT RUNNING AWAY!"
The system replied without even vibrating.
["Then why do you refuse to cook?"]
The question hung in the air.
And then the memory came.
And it was as if the world stopped.
Zarkrion… no. Park Suho, his former self, was nine years old. His mother, a beautiful Korean woman with warm hands, hugged him while the smell of freshly fried chicken filled the air of the family restaurant.
He remembered her bright smile, his blond hair inherited from his British father, her sweet voice every time she called him to help cut vegetables. He remembered the way she sautéed noodles with squid, the steam wrapping around her like a divine aura.
She always gave free food to those who needed it; money didn't matter, it was just something earthly and fleeting after all.
She always said: "What you give is what you receive in this life."
And for years, Suho believed her.
Until the day he stopped.
He remembered the torrential rain. He remembered running. He remembered the wet sound… a blow. And when he arrived at the restaurant, he found a pool of blood, his mother's body on the floor, and a drug addict fleeing with a knife in his hand.
His mother…
The same person who had fed that man countless times…
She looked at him with a smile as she died.
He remembered her last words.
He remembered her weak hand caressing his cheek.
The rest was darkness.
Suho was never the same again.
The restaurant closed.
The father disappeared emotionally.
And he… he just shut himself away.
That was why he stopped cooking.
That was why he stopped believing in that ridiculous phrase about "giving good things."
To him, all of that was false.
Stupid.
His entire life turned into an empty, dark apartment, full of regrets and instant meals.
Remembering all that crushed him from the inside.
The system spoke in a different tone this time. Warm. Real.
["It's never too late to start again. What you receive from others, good or bad, doesn't mean you did something wrong."]
Zarkrion swallowed hard. A knot. A weight.
["Your mother didn't lie to you… she just wanted you to find that ingredient you were missing to give flavor to your soul."]
The draconian lowered his head.
["You can't find that ingredient if you keep running away. The only way to reach the goal you need so badly is by delving into its processes."]
Zarkrion lifted his gaze… and his eyes shone with an intense orange light, almost volcanic.
"Wow… you always know how to make me feel stupid," he said with a trembling smile.
He grabbed his knife firmly.
"But you're right. I can't turn my back on this girl if I keep being selfish."
He adjusted the apron. He took a deep breath.
"Now…" his eyes focused on the kitchen, "let's prepare something delicious for this guest who needs us."
The system smiled through its metallic voice.
["That's more like it. Now I truly have a chef as my Host."]
Zarkrion rolled his shoulders, warming up his arms. The gleaming kitchen lit up with the glow of the mana tree, which let blue motes fall onto the countertop like tiny stars.
He sat in front of the wooden cutting board.
For the first time in a long while, the sound of the knife began to fill the home.
Tac. Tac. Tac. Tac.
Like a heart that had begun to beat again.
And as he chopped ingredients, as his breathing grew steadier, as his mind left behind for a moment the pain of the past, something changed deeply within him.
He wasn't going to let that girl starve.
He wasn't going to fail her.
He wasn't going to fail himself again.
For the first time since he arrived in that world…
He felt that maybe, just maybe…
He was starting again.