Megrie found herself inexplicably transported to a world where fatness was considered beauty.
The irony was cruel.
In her original world, she had been mocked for being overweight.
In this world, she was despised and trampled for being too thin.
She had once been the only daughter of the city lord.
Her mother passed away early, and her father poured all his love into her—until the year she turned eighteen.
That was when he brought a woman home.
Her name was Natta.
"She will be your new mother," her father said.
Natta arrived with three children in tow:
the eldest, Gray (twenty);
the second, Loya (eighteen);
and the youngest, Kiki (sixteen).
Smiling with satisfaction, her father declared,
"From now on, we are one family. Megrie won't be lonely anymore."
But happiness was fleeting—
as brief as a meal that never quite fills you.
Her father soon contracted a mysterious illness and passed away.
The moment the funeral ended, Natta tore off her gentle mask.
Megrie's clothes, jewelry, room, and food—
one by one, they were taken from her and given to Natta's children.
She was forced into servitude, made a maid in her own home.
She worked day and night, constantly scolded, constantly humiliated.
This was a world that worshipped fullness and curves,
yet under hunger and exhaustion, Megrie grew thinner by the day.
The once-rounded body she had taken pride in
became something people looked down on—
skin and bones.
Until one day—
She starved to death,
collapsed in the corner of the kitchen.
But death was not the end.
When she opened her eyes again,
the "Megrie" who awoke was no longer the girl meant to be trampled.
She came from another world.
There, she had been a chef—
one whose cooking could make people cry, drive them mad with desire,
and even build an empire of chain restaurants.
Now, fate had thrown her into this world—
one that worshipped fatness, yet let its people starve.
Megrie clenched her fists and swore in a low voice—
This time,
she would use cooking
to reclaim her dignity, reclaim her status,
and force everyone who had trampled her—
to never lift their heads again.
Hunger can drive a person mad.
At least, that was what Megrie believed.
She stood at the entrance of the kitchen, staring at the row of cupboards Natta had personally locked.
Her stomach growled at the worst possible moment, as if mocking her situation.
—Empty.
—All of them.
No—
they weren't empty.
They were locked.
"…How cruel," she murmured.
This world worshipped abundance,
yet wouldn't spare her even a single bite to survive.
Taking a deep breath, Megrie turned and left the lord's residence.
Night draped itself over the town like a dark cloth.
Scattered lights flickered in the distance, as though beckoning her forward.
She chose the most ordinary-looking house she could find.
Ordinary meant low security.
The kitchen window was slightly ajar, carrying the faint scent of dry flour and firewood.
"I'm sorry…" she whispered, slipping inside with practiced ease.
The kitchen was small, but clean and orderly.
Her body moved almost by instinct.
Boil water.
Add noodles.
Sprinkle salt.
There was no broth.
No toppings.
Still, she carefully adjusted the heat, letting the noodles dance perfectly in the rolling water.
Moments later, she held a bowl of steaming noodles in her hands.
To someone on the brink of starvation,
the aroma was almost cruel.
Megrie sat down, her hands trembling slightly.
"Just this one bowl…"
she whispered to herself, lifting her chopsticks.
And then—
Cold metal touched her neck.
"Don't move."
It wasn't one voice.
It was three.
Her entire body froze.
The bowl in her hands tilted dangerously, nearly slipping from her grasp.
A sword—sharp and icy—pressed against the artery on the left side of her neck.
An axe—heavy and solid—hovered near her right shoulder.
And a wooden staff—simple and rough—was lodged firmly against her throat.
"Turn around. Slowly," someone said.
Megrie swallowed and obeyed.
Her gaze landed first on the man holding the sword.
Silver-gray armor gleamed under the light, his posture straight and unwavering—like a blade drawn from its sheath.
His face was sharp and handsome, his eyes vigilant and piercing.
—A patrol guard.
He looked like the embodiment of justice itself.
Next came the axe.
Bare arms thick with muscle, marked by years of labor.
Broad shoulders, a relaxed stance brimming with raw strength.
Megrie swallowed again.
Not out of fear.
Out of something else entirely.
Finally, she looked at the man holding the wooden staff.
He wore light-colored home clothes. His hair was slightly messy,
yet his features were too refined for an ordinary townsman.
His brows were gentle, though faintly furrowed in thought.
He didn't look like someone catching a thief.
He looked like someone thinking.
Three pairs of eyes fixed on her.
The air went still.
Then—
Their gazes slowly shifted
to the bowl of noodles in her hands.
Steam still curled upward.
"…"
The guard with the sword frowned first.
"What is that smell?" he asked quietly.
The man with the axe sniffed the air, confusion written plainly on his face.
"It smells… hungry."
The homeowner was silent for several seconds before finally speaking.
"You broke into my house,"
he said, his voice calm but unmistakably firm, eyes on her.
"Just to cook this?"
Megrie's back prickled with cold sweat, yet she hugged the bowl tighter.
She looked up at the three men, her voice honest—almost tragically so.
"…I just wanted one bite."
In that instant,
none of the three weapons moved any closer.
And that bowl of noodles—
was quietly changing her life forever.