Back in the shared kitchen, he slowly washed his hands and laid everything out on the small wooden table.
With the ingredients spread before him, his eyes measured the space and timing rather than the tools themselves.
The skill did not rush him but instead, it steadied his breathing and guided his focus to what mattered most, preparation before the oil ever touched the heat.
"Hmm, let's see if this is really legit," he said as he tried to draw out the skills he had gained from the reward.
So first he cleaned the chicken carefully then trimmed the excess skin and moisture, knowing that water would ruin both oil and texture, then patted each piece dry with extreme patience.
After that he seasoned them simply, salt first, then pepper, then a restrained pinch of flavor enhancer.
He rubbed each piece until the surface felt balanced rather than heavy and before touching the chicken again.
First, he prepared the oil, pouring it into the pan and placing it over the charcoal stove, watching closely as the heat climbed.
Then he crushed a few cloves of garlic and lowered them gently into the warming oil, frying them slowly until golden and fragrant, then removed them at once, leaving behind oil that carried aroma without bitterness.
Only when the oil spoke back with a soft sound did he coat the chicken lightly in flour, shaking off the excess so nothing would burn or clump.
After that he lowered the pieces one by one never crowding the pan, listening to the change in sound and watching the bubbles form evenly around the edges.
He adjusted the heat by instinct, lifting the pan slightly when the oil grew too eager and lowering it back when the sound softened, turning each piece only when resistance faded on its own.
As the chicken browned, the smell spread outward, warm and inviting, and when he lifted the finished pieces out to rest, he knew from the weight and color alone that they were done right.
He did not rush to serve them, allowing a brief moment for the crust to settle so it would stay crisp even inside plastic.
Standing there in the quiet kitchen, oil cooling and chicken steaming gently, he understood that it wasn't really a scam.
The smell was so delicious that it made him drool. It was still early in the morning, a time when fried chicken was not something people usually craved.
Yet in his current state, he was salivating as if he had never eaten fried chicken in his life.
After frying, the chicken is still extremely hot. Instead of exposing it to the air, he immediately places it into a plastic bag and closes it loosely thus trapping steam, oil vapor, and seasoning inside.
This creates an aroma pocket where the smell intensifies instead of escaping uselessly.
At the moment of serving, he adds just a few drops of warm garlic infused oil into the bag.
The oil hits the hot chicken and instantly reactivates the garlic scent, blending with the steam already trapped inside.
This makes the smell sharper and fresher, as if the chicken was fried again right in front of the customer.
Only then does he add freshly ground pepper, sprinkling it lightly while the chicken is still steaming.
The heat blooms the pepper's aroma, sending a sharp and awakening scent that cuts through morning air better than heavy spices.
"Now I just have to repeat the same process again," he thought, and without hesitation, he did exactly that.
Each fresh batch went straight into the plastic while still steaming, a few careful drops of garlic infused oil followed, then a light bloom of pepper before he sealed it loosely, letting the trapped heat build the same rich aroma again and again until the air around him slowly filled with it.
"Phew," he sighed as he wiped the sweat from his face.
A smile spread across his face as he looked at the table filled with fried chicken.
There were over eighteen pieces, each wrapped in a plastic bag.
It might have looked strange to wrap them individually, but since he did not have a stall or even a simple pushcart, it was the most practical choice.
"Well then, now that everything is done, let's see if I can make more from this," he said as he looked at the table filled with plastic bags.
"I want to sell all of this fried chicken," he blurted out.
...
Quest: First Street Sale
Description: The host has decided to turn skill into action and test whether effort can truly be rewarded.
Objective: Sell every portion of fried chicken prepared for the day.
Reward: Temporary Income Boost Card | Small Pushcart
...
"Dang, I might really be right. At this rate, I could retire in no time and live a life without a single worry," he said with a dry laugh.
With that, he gathered everything and placed it into a large plastic bag.
Once he was done, he headed out and made his way to the gas station near the jeepney terminal.
It's not really far and even the market was much further, the travel only took about 3 minutes before he arrived with that he started.
"Good morning, sir. Would you like some fried chicken? It's really good," he said to a man wearing a businessman's suit.
The man only glanced at him. Seeing his clothes and overall appearance, especially how cheap and unkempt he looked, the man frowned.
He was certain that someone like this had no sense of hygiene or ethics.
He even wondered if the food being sold might be poisoned.
With that, the man waved his hand clearly, signaling no. John did not linger and moved on to another customer.
After repeating the same process again and again, no one bought anything.
There were plenty of people around, yet not a single sale was made. Left with no other choice, he decided to use the big guns.
Standing at the center of the area, he slowly opened one of the plastic bags, careful not to tear it open roughly.
The cool morning air rushed in, forcing the trapped aroma outward in a single wave.
The scent did not fade weakly. Instead, it pushed forward, reaching the people nearby before they even realized what they were smelling.
John was about to speak when a student looking girl suddenly approached and asked.
"Hey, how much is the fried chicken? It smells delicious~" she said while looking at him.
"Fifteen pesos each," he replied with a smile.
"Well, that was quick. I should have done this earlier. My street persuasion skills are really bad," he said to himself.
Hearing this, the girl was surprised, "Wow, that's cheaper than I thought. I'll buy two. Make sure the taste really matches the smell, okay?" she joked as she took out fifty pesos.
He simply nodded in reply and she was right about what she commented, the part that it was really was not expensive.
A medium sized fried chicken usually cost around thirty pesos, while a large one went for forty.
Even the smallest fried chicken was about twenty-five pesos.
Selling a medium piece for fifteen pesos was practically giving it away.
If he wanted to, he could have sold them for ten pesos and doubled his income by completing the quest, but he needed to earn a decent amount, not just a small profit.
After handing her a plastic bag with the fried chicken and her change, she took one piece out and bit into it.
After that the taste was mind blowing.