Leon opened the door.
Standing there was the attendant. The same one who had overseen their relocation. Their marriage. Their lie-turned-truth. She stood straight-backed as ever, hands folded neatly before her—but her eyes kept flicking past Leon's shoulder, toward the source of the scent.
Beside her stood a man from Earth.
He looked thin. Not starving, but close enough that hunger had sharpened his face. His clothes were clean but worn, his posture hesitant, shoulders slightly hunched like someone who had been turned away too many times already.
"I—uh," the man began, then stopped, embarrassed. He cleared his throat. "Sorry to bother you. I just… I smelled food."
Elena stepped into view behind Leon.
The man's eyes widened slightly when he saw them together—recognition dawning. "Oh. You're the newlyweds."
Leon nodded. "Yes."
The man rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm from Earth. Still trying to get assigned work. Haven't eaten since five days." He hesitated, then forced himself to meet Leon's eyes. "If it's not rude… I thought maybe I could ask if there was any way to earn a meal. I can help with cleaning or—anything."
Leon didn't answer immediately.
The attendant spoke instead, her tone composed but honest. "I followed the scent here," she said. "It's… unusually potent. Even by Elnorian standards."
Elena glanced back toward the kitchen, then at Leon. She saw the moment it clicked for him—that the smell wasn't just drifting. It was pulling.
"…Please," Elena said before Leon could overthink it. She smiled at the man. "Come in."
Leon turned toward her, surprised.
She met his gaze steadily. This is who you are, her eyes seemed to say.
He stepped aside.
The attendant inclined her head slightly in approval and entered first. The man followed, almost reverent, like he was afraid the warmth might vanish if he moved too fast.
The moment they crossed the threshold, the scent deepened.
Steam curled lazily from a large pot on the stove. The broth was rich and golden, layered with flavors unfamiliar to Elnor but immediately comforting—slow-simmered bones, soy, miso, hints of garlic and something smoky. Thick noodles rested beneath the surface, surrounded by sliced meat, soft-boiled eggs, and fresh greens.
The man swallowed hard.
"…What is that?" the attendant asked quietly.
Leon scratched his cheek, suddenly self-conscious. "Ramen. It's… food from Earth."
"Food," the man echoed, awe-struck.
Elena watched their reactions with a soft smile. She hadn't even tasted it yet, but seeing the way the air itself seemed to hum around the pot made her chest warm.
Leon grabbed two bowls automatically, movements practiced, careful. He ladled broth, noodles, toppings—precise without being stingy. Then he paused, glanced at the attendant.
"…Would you like some?"
The attendant hesitated.
Protocol flickered across her expression—rules, distance, formality. Then hunger won. Curiosity followed.
"Yes," she said simply.
They sat around the small table—crowded now, too small for formality. Leon set the bowls down, steam rising between them like a shared secret.
They didn't had chops ticks so they used fork
The man from Earth took his first bite.
His hands trembled.
He froze. Then his shoulders sagged, breath shuddering out of him as if something inside finally let go.
"…I forgot," he whispered hoarsely. "I forgot what warm food tasted like."
The attendant tasted next—carefully, like someone expecting a trick.
Her eyes widened. Just slightly.
"This," she said after a moment, "contains no mana reinforcement. No alchemical additives."
Leon nodded. "Just cooking."
"…Then how," she asked slowly, "does it nourish like this?"
Elena answered softly. "Because it was made for someone."
Silence followed.
Outside, another passerby slowed. Then another.
Leon felt it then—the subtle pull, the way mana responded not to power, but to intent. To care. To familiarity.
The System chimed faintly.
Not a warning.
An acknowledgment.
And Leon realized, a little stunned, that he hadn't just cooked breakfast.
He had opened a door—
one bowl of ramen at a time.