The system didn't waste time.
[Ding!]
[Canteen Assistance]
> Hire: Jackal (Lynian) — 2,500 Zeni
I asked for help stirring a pot and it sent me a bill. A menu floated in front of me without warning, blocking the view of everything. That wasn't the strangest part.
The thumbnail showed something knee-high with pointed ears and opposable thumbs, wearing what looked like a tiny leather apron. A kitchen cat. If cats had giant claws and a mouth that could chew my arms clean off. Although now that I think about it, there wasn't much difference.
'2,500 Zeni! I barely had what, 300 Zeni? And I worked hard for that too. Which... if I did the math correct, was about seven and a half more meals. And that's assuming every hunter pays the same, which they won't—'
The pot rattled behind me.
Right, the broth.
I dismissed the menu with a hard squelch and spun back to the stove. The lid was still dancing, steam curling from the gap in short, angry bursts. Behind me, Kael's bow tapped the table once, then twice. Announcing my eviction no less.
I grabbed the rag and lifted the lid.
The smell hit first. Darker than the batch I'd made for Torren, the surface thick and sluggish. The Velmora fat had gone from golden to amber, and the herbs were wilted past recognition. Even that was overcooked.
I touched the ladle to my lips. Salt and fat with something smoky underneath, maybe the dried leaves from jar two. Stronger than last time. Concentrated. Whether that was "bad" or "worse" depended on who was eating it.
I ladled the broth into a bowl. Kaen's bowl. He'd ordered broth and I didn't have a second batch, so overcooked was what he got. The liquid poured thick, almost viscous, steam denser than it should've been.
I set the bowl aside and turned to Kael's problem.
The acid-cured Velmora sat on the cutting board where I'd left it. Four portions, pale from the diluted toxin soak, firmed up and smelling faintly of vinegar and batteries.
The grill sheet was cold. I slid it onto the stove grate and pressed my palm flat against the metal.
Heat Control kicked in before I finished the thought. The flame crawled from my palm to the grate, even and steady, and I held it there until the metal started to tick. Lv. 2 gave me range — the temperature climbed the way bathwater warms around your hand, except my hand was doing the warming.
I laid the first portion on the grill. The sizzle was immediate, acid residue hitting hot metal, sending up a plume of steam that smelled like a chemistry lab having a bad day.
"Is it supposed to do that?" Kaen asked from his chair.
"Yes," I said, because what else was I going to say?
I found a dented pot lid that almost fit over the grill sheet. Air leaked from the warped edge. But it trapped enough heat that the sizzling dropped to a low crackle within seconds. The idea was half-remembered at best — a fragment from a cooking show I'd scrolled past on a phone I'd never hold again.
'One-boba, two-boba, three-boba—'
At twelve I lifted the lid. The first portion had gone from pale to golden-brown on the underside, the acid cure caramelizing into something that looked almost intentional. I flipped it with the flat of my kitchen knife because I didn't own a spatula. Fresh crackle. Twelve more. Remove. Next piece on.
By the fourth portion, I had a rhythm. Grill hissed, lid trapped, I counted, I flipped. My hands moved without the shaking from an hour ago. Heat Control held steady. The Velmora fat rendered and pooled at the edges of the grill sheet, golden and sizzling, and the kitchen filled with a smell that sat somewhere between chemistry experiment and actual cooking.
I stacked all four portions on a plate. Set Kaen's bowl next to it.
Then I stopped.
The food looked good.
Not the way food looks good when you've done your best and you're being generous with yourself. The broth in Kaen's bowl had settled into a rich amber, the surface catching stove light with a faint sheen of rendered fat. Herbs floated in a pattern that looked arranged — spiraling inward, evenly spaced, like someone had placed each one with tweezers.
I hadn't placed anything.
I'd dumped broth into a bowl and prayed.
The Velmora on Kael's plate was worse. Worse because it was better than it had any right to be. Golden-brown and glistening, the acid-seared crust catching light at the edges, portions stacked at an angle I definitely hadn't chosen. The fat had pooled into a glaze around the base, and a sprig of dried herb — which I'd crumbled over the pan, not arranged on a plate — sat perched on top like a garnish.
That doesn't seem right.
I stared at the plate. Then the bowl. Then my hands. Greasy, shaking slightly, undeserving of credit.
Another subcategory that hadn't announced itself. No bracket or notification for that matter. The same way Butchery guided my knife and Heat Control measured my flame, some part of Cooking Level Two had taken my panic-assembly and turned it into something that looked practiced.
I set Kaen's bowl in front of his chair. He leaned forward, and the amber surface reflected off the bottom edge of his helmet.
"This smells incredible."
I set Kael's plate next to the bow she'd been polishing. She glanced down, picked up a portion with her fingers and opened her mouth. I didn't realize how wide a human jaw could open.
I gripped the counter edge and watched because that's all I could do.
'You, please don't throw up. Please don't die, other one.'
Kaen ate slowly. Each spoonful lifted, blown on, tasted with a tilt of his head. Somewhere behind the helmet, a palate better than mine was filing away everything I'd done wrong.
Kael ate fast. Tearing portions, swallowing with barely a pause. Fuel, not cuisine. I'd spent thirty minutes on the acid cure, panicking about dilution ratios, counting bobas to get the sear right, and she cleared the plate in under two minutes. Actually a minute and forty-three seconds. Couldn't help it.
This wasn't a restaurant meal. This was pre-hunt nutrition. In twenty minutes her Scent Mask would activate—or wouldn't—and she'd be gobbled by something with bigger jaws and yellow teeth. If the acid cure worked, she lived. If it didn't, I'd given her a head start on dying.
Food was food. You ordered it, it arrived, you ate half and threw the rest away. Nobody died if your takeout was cold. Maybe the reviews, but that was it.
Kael finished first. Set the empty plate down. Then Kaen lowered his spoon.
Neither of them moved.
And then, from behind his helmet, came a burp.
It was a low sound that started in the stomach, took an ugly route through the chest, and arrived with full confidence.
"I—excuse me." He set the spoon on the counter. "That doesn't usually happen."
[Health Boost (S) — 30min | Attack Boost (S) — 30min]
Kael burped next without looking up, louder than her brother. She wiped her mouth with the back of her gauntlet and pushed the empty plate forward.
"I burp like any other hunter." She stood, noticing my opened mouth, and reached for her folded bow. "That makes me womanly."
[Scent Mask — 20min | Attack Boost (S) — 30min]
'Yes ma'am. Whatever you say.'
They both got buffs...it actually succeeded again.
Kael slung the bow across her back. She moved toward the door. Kaen stood slower, straightened his helmet, and paused at the counter. He shifted his weight, opened his mouth, closed it, then tried again.
"The broth was concentrated. Richer than I expected." He tilted his head. "You reduced it intentionally?"
"Yes," I said.
He nodded. "It worked."
Then they were both at the door.
Two standard effects from one bowl of overcooked broth. The Health Boost tracked—same Gullmaw base. The Attack Boost was new, though. The Velmora I'd added must have carried it. Bird Wyvern, high fat, aggressive species no less.
The aggression survived the pot.
And Kael's buff had no letter to mark its strength, so it only made sense that it worked differently from direct stats. That is, being a unique buff depended on the type of monster organ I used to make that specific dish.
'When did I start sounding like a textbook.'
She'd asked for an acidic base. I'd given her diluted monster poison caramelized on a grill. And it worked.
Kael looked at the notification the way someone reads a receipt. She nodded once, a motion so small I would've missed it if I hadn't been drooling at that point.
"Adequate." She reached into a pouch on her belt. A leather sack hit the counter.
From Kael, I suspected that was a standing ovation.