DING!
ALCHEMICAL COOKING SYSTEM INITIATING…
The sound exploded inside his head.
Gin jolted awake, his body screaming in protest. Every muscle ached as if he had been torn apart and stitched back together poorly. His skull throbbed, pressure building as streams of foreign information flooded his mind without warning.
"—gh…!"
Before he could even scream, the pain abruptly eased.
A warm energy flowed through his head like gentle water, cooling his overheated thoughts, organizing the chaos. The sensation was strange—unnatural—but comforting, as if something unseen had taken control and stabilized him.
PLEASE STAND BY.
Gin sucked in a sharp breath.
"…A system?"
His eyes snapped open.
"Wait—this isn't Earth."
He sat up too fast and winced, clutching his head as he looked around.
He was inside a kitchen.
Not the clean, stainless-steel kind he remembered—but not primitive either.
The walls were scarred with cracks and scorch marks. Metal plating reinforced sections of concrete like emergency repairs done in a hurry. Power cables ran openly along the ceiling, humming faintly. Some appliances looked handmade from scrap, while others were unmistakably futuristic—sleek panels, glowing indicators, materials he couldn't recognize.
Pots hung from hooks welded into a steel beam. A massive reinforced counter dominated the center of the space, its surface scratched but spotless.
And beneath his hands—
"…A food truck?"
Gin froze.
The realization hit him all at once.
The tight space.
The reinforced walls.
The faint vibration of an engine deep below.
He wasn't just in a kitchen.
He was inside a food truck.
Memory surged.
Not his.
Cities collapsing.
Monsters flooding streets.
Red skies. Sirens.
People screaming—then silence.
Gin staggered to his feet, breathing hard.
"I… transmigrated."
Not reincarnated as a baby.
Not summoned as a hero.
He had woken up in the middle of the apocalypse.
Before panic could fully take hold—
DING!
SYNCHRONIZATION COMPLETE.
A translucent screen appeared before him.
[ALCHEMICAL COOKING SYSTEM]
Host: Gin
Status: Alive (Barely)
Location: Unregistered Zone
Base: Mobile Kitchen Unit (Damaged)
Gin stared.
"…Alchemical cooking?"
Another pulse of warmth flowed through his body, spreading from his chest to his limbs. The aches dulled. His breathing steadied. He could feel strength returning—slowly, but undeniably.
DING!
BEGINNER BLESSING APPLIED.
– Pain Suppression
– Mental Stabilization
– Temporary Vital Recovery
Gin exhaled shakily.
"Okay… okay. I can work with this."
He rubbed his face and took a better look around.
On the counter lay ingredients he didn't recognize—meat faintly glowing with red veins, crystalline shards sealed in containers, herbs that pulsed softly like they were breathing.
A small window above the grill showed the outside.
Gin approached it—and froze.
Beyond the glass was a ruined city swallowed by crimson fog.
Twisted silhouettes moved in the distance. Massive shapes crawled between collapsed buildings. The air itself looked heavy, distorted, dangerous.
And yet—
Right where the truck was parked, the fog thinned.
The ground was intact.
The monsters stopped—circling, but never crossing an invisible line.
As if the truck didn't exist to them.
Or worse—
As if they were afraid.
DING!
SYSTEM NOTICE:
This kitchen is your domain.
Cook to survive.
Cook to grow stronger.
Cook… to defy the apocalypse.
Gin swallowed.
He looked down at his hands.
Then at the ingredients.
Then at the grill slowly heating up on its own.
"…So that's how it is."
Outside, something massive roared—close enough to shake the truck.
Gin straightened, a strange calm settling in his chest.
"If this world wants monsters," he muttered, stepping toward the counter,
"then I'll start by cooking one."
The grill flared to life.
And somewhere far away—
The apocalypse took notice.
DING!
SYSTEM MISSION ISSUED.
Gin stiffened as the translucent screen shifted.
[SYSTEM MISSION]
Objective: Cook your first meal
Status: Mandatory
Details:
The host is currently in a temporarily stabilized body.
Cook monster meat to restore and heal all internal injuries.
Mission Reward:
– Healthy Body
– Basic Alchemical Cooking Knowledge
Gin stared at the screen, then let out a dry laugh.
"So I don't even get a choice, huh."
His body answered for him.
A sharp wave of weakness rolled through his limbs, his knees nearly buckling. The warmth keeping him together flickered—still there, but clearly on a timer.
"…Yeah, yeah. I get it," he muttered. "Cook or die."
He turned back toward the counter.
The meat lay there like a challenge.
A thick slab of dark flesh, marbled with faintly glowing crimson veins. Heat shimmered around it unnaturally, and a low, almost inaudible pulse echoed when Gin focused on it—like a heartbeat.
DING!
INGREDIENT SCAN COMPLETE.
[CRIMSON MAW BEAST MEAT]
Grade: Low
Condition: Fresh
Properties:
– High Vitality
– Extreme Toughness
– Mild Corruption
Warning:
Unprocessed consumption will result in organ failure.
Gin's mouth twitched.
"Of course it would."
As if responding to his thoughts, new lines of text unfolded.
DING!
ALCHEMICAL COOKING MODE ENABLED.
Suddenly—
He understood.
Not memories.
Not instructions.
Instinct.
He knew where to cut.
How to draw out the corruption.
What heat would break the fibers without destroying the vitality.
Gin froze, stunned.
"…So this is the knowledge reward," he whispered.
No practice.
No training.
The system had simply placed understanding directly into his hands.
He grabbed a knife.
The blade looked ordinary—until he held it.
Runes faintly surfaced along the edge, responding to his grip.
Gin sliced cleanly through the meat.
Instead of blood, a thin red mist leaked out, quickly evaporating. The pulsing stopped.
"Good," Gin murmured, surprising himself with how calm he felt.
He worked efficiently.
Trim.
Slice.
Score.
Each motion felt natural, almost comforting—like he had been doing this for years.
He placed the meat onto the grill.
SZZZ—
The sound echoed sharply in the confined space.
At the same time—
Outside the truck, monsters stirred.
Gin glanced toward the window.
The massive shapes circling the truck stopped moving.
Every head turned.
Not toward him—
Toward the grill.
The smell spread.
Not rot.
Not blood.
Something warm.
Something alive.
Gin's stomach twisted painfully as hunger hit him all at once, sharp and overwhelming.
"Gah—!"
He gripped the counter, breathing hard.
DING!
WARNING: Host vitality critical.
"Almost… done…" he muttered.
The meat changed color as it cooked, the crimson veins fading into a rich, deep brown. The surface crisped slightly, releasing a scent that made his vision blur.
It smelled like home.
Like safety.
The grill clicked off on its own.
DING!
COOKING COMPLETE.
Gin didn't bother with plates.
He grabbed the meat with shaking hands and took a bite.
Warmth exploded inside him.
Not heat—life.
The pain vanished instantly. His aching muscles loosened. His breathing deepened. Something broken deep inside his body snapped back into place with a quiet finality.
Gin gasped as strength surged through him.
DING!
MISSION COMPLETE.
[REWARDS DISTRIBUTED]
– Healthy Body: Applied
– Basic Alchemical Cooking Knowledge: Integrated
Gin stood there, stunned.
He clenched his fist.
No pain.
No weakness.
His body felt… better than before.
He exhaled slowly.
"…So this is how it starts."
Outside, the monsters took a step back.
As if they understood something fundamental had changed.
Gin looked down at the half-eaten meal in his hand, then at the glowing system screen hovering patiently before him.
A slow smile spread across his face.
"In an apocalypse full of killers," he said quietly,
"I guess I'll survive by cooking."
The engine beneath his feet hummed.
The food truck's lights brightened.
And somewhere, deep within the system—
A legend quietly took its first breath.
DING!
Gin barely had time to savor the lingering warmth in his body before the system chimed again—this time sharp, urgent.
[SYSTEM NOTICE]
FOOD TRUCK WILL NOW TRANSPORT TO AN OPTIMAL LOCATION FOR THE HOST TO SELL FOOD.
Mission: Sell 1 Monster Meat Barbecue
Reward:
– New Recipe Unlocked
• Stir-Fried Monster Meat
Failure:
DEATH
"…Wow," Gin said flatly.
"No pressure at all."
The word DEATH hovered there, large and unblinking.
Before he could protest—
The truck lurched.
"—Whoa!"
Gin grabbed the counter as the entire kitchen vibrated. Outside the window, the crimson fog twisted violently, folding in on itself like wet paint being dragged across glass.
The scenery blurred.
Buildings stretched.
Monsters dissolved into shadows.
The world itself seemed to be skipped forward.
There was no sense of movement—no acceleration, no turn.
Just—
Relocation.
The vibration stopped.
The engine purred softly, satisfied.
Gin straightened slowly and approached the window again.
"…You've got to be kidding me."
Survivor City Hub – Outer Market Zone
The food truck was parked neatly on cracked asphalt between two collapsed buildings reinforced with metal plating. Makeshift stalls lined the street, lit by hanging lamps and system-generated lights.
People were everywhere.
Survivors in mismatched armor.
Awakeners with weapons still dripping faint mana.
Merchants shouting prices for monster cores and clean water.
And now—
A food truck.
A dozen heads turned at once.
"…Is that a truck?"
"No way."
"Food? Here?"
Gin felt every stare hit him like physical weight.
His heart started pounding.
"Sell one barbecue," he muttered. "Just one."
As if sensing his nerves—
DING!
ENVIRONMENTAL ADAPTATION COMPLETE.
The truck's exterior shifted subtly. Rust faded into a weathered but solid finish. The side panel slid open with a mechanical hiss, revealing the grill and counter.
Above it, glowing system-letters formed a simple sign:
MONSTER MEAT BARBECUE
— OPEN —
The smell followed.
The effect was instant.
Conversations died mid-sentence.
A nearby survivor froze with a monster core in hand.
A hardened mercenary sniffed the air unconsciously.
"…That smell," someone whispered.
"That's not rations."
Gin swallowed.
"Okay," he said under his breath. "Here goes nothing."
He placed the remaining Monster Meat Barbecue onto a paper tray the system conjured for him and set it on the counter.
A man approached.
Mid-thirties. Scar across his jaw. B-rank insignia on his shoulder. His eyes were sharp—but tired.
"Is this a joke?" the man asked.
Gin met his gaze.
"No," he said honestly. "It's food."
The man scoffed.
"In this city?"
Behind him, someone muttered, "If it's poisoned, he'll be dead in seconds."
Gin didn't respond.
The system chimed softly.
DING!
PRICE SUGGESTION: 1 Low-Grade Monster Core
(Non-negotiable)
Gin repeated it aloud.
"One low-grade monster core."
The man blinked.
"…That's it?"
Gin nodded.
The survivor hesitated only a moment before placing a dull, cracked core on the counter.
"Fine," he said. "If I die, I'm haunting you."
Gin slid the tray forward.
"Fair."
The man took a bite.
And froze.
His eyes widened.
The color returned to his face instantly. The faint tremor in his hands vanished. His breathing deepened, steady and strong.
"…What the hell," he whispered.
A soft glow pulsed beneath his skin—gone as quickly as it appeared.
System notifications exploded across the man's interface.
"Hey—HEY!" he barked suddenly, staring at his status screen.
"My fatigue's gone!"
The crowd surged forward.
"Did you see that?"
"His injuries—"
"My system just updated!"
Gin's own screen chimed.
DING!
MISSION COMPLETE.
[REWARDS DISTRIBUTED]
– New Recipe Unlocked: Stir-Fried Monster Meat
Gin exhaled, legs weak with relief.
"…I lived."
The survivor who'd eaten first grabbed the counter, eyes blazing—not hostile, but intense.
"You," he said. "What's your name?"
Gin paused.
Then shook his head.
"Just a cook."
The man laughed once, sharp and incredulous.
"In the apocalypse?" he said.
"Yeah right."
Behind him, the crowd pressed closer.
The smell thickened.
And somewhere in the city hub—
A rumor was born.
Above the truck, the system sign flickered.
OPEN.
And for the first time since the world ended—
People lined up not for weapons.
But for food.
The moment the first customer stepped away from the counter, the street changed.
It wasn't loud at first.
No shouting.
No chaos.
Just movement.
Survivors who had been pretending not to care drifted closer. One by one. Casual at first—too casual. Hands in pockets. Weapons slung low.
Then someone said it out loud.
"…Healed."
That single word spread faster than the smell.
Within minutes, a line formed.
Not a mob.
Not a riot.
A line.
Battle-hardened awakeners stood shoulder to shoulder, weapons grounded, eyes fixed on the grill like it was the only safe thing left in the world.
Gin swallowed.
"…You've got to be kidding me."
DING!
INVENTORY UPDATE.
[MONSTER MEAT BARBECUE]
Available: 99 sticks
"Only ninety-nine?" Gin muttered.
He looked up.
The line was already longer than that.
"Hey, is this real food?"
"Does it really restore stamina?"
"I've got cores—mid-grade even!"
Gin raised his hands.
"Low-grade cores only," he said quickly. "One per stick."
A murmur rippled through the line—not anger.
Relief.
Low-grade cores were common. Almost useless in combat. A currency most people hated carrying.
And now—
They had value.
The grill worked nonstop.
Sizzle after sizzle.
Gin moved automatically, the Alchemical Cooking Knowledge guiding his hands. Cut, season, grill, serve. Each stick left his hands warm, steaming, alive with faint energy.
With every sale—
A survivor straightened.
A wound closed.
A system screen chimed in disbelief.
Gasps.
Curses.
Quiet laughter.
Gin didn't look up.
He didn't need to.
He could feel the truck.
The engine humming steadily.
The counter warm beneath his palms.
The faint, unseen boundary holding danger at bay.
DING!
INVENTORY UPDATE.
Available: 47 sticks
Gin's heart skipped.
"That fast…?"
A woman in the line clenched her fists nervously.
"Please," she said. "I just came back from a run. I'll pay extra."
Gin hesitated.
The system answered for him.
DING!
PRICE FIXED.
ALCHEMICAL TRADE MUST BE EQUAL.
Gin exhaled.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "One per person."
She nodded, swallowing hard.
"Fair."
DING!
INVENTORY UPDATE.
Available: 12 sticks
The line fell silent.
People counted.
People realized.
Panic crept in—not violent, but desperate.
Gin felt it too.
DING!
INVENTORY UPDATE.
Available: 0 sticks
The grill powered down.
The warmth faded.
A final chime echoed in his head.
DING!
DAILY SUPPLY DEPLETED.
Gin wiped sweat from his brow and stepped back.
"…That's it," he said, voice carrying despite the quiet. "Sold out."
For a heartbeat—
No one moved.
Then disappointment washed through the crowd like a tide.
Not anger.
Just loss.
A man at the front laughed weakly.
"Figures. Apocalypse luck."
Another sighed.
"At least I ate today."
Gin leaned against the counter, exhausted but alive.
"I couldn't help everyone," he thought.
The system responded softly.
DING!
TODAY YOU HELPED 100.
THAT IS ENOUGH.
As the crowd slowly dispersed, survivors talking in hushed, excited voices, Gin looked at the empty grill.
"One hundred sticks…" he murmured.
Outside, city sensors spiked.
Guild channels lit up.
And somewhere deep within the city's command tower—
A notification blinked red.
UNREGISTERED ENTITY: MOBILE FOOD UNIT
THREAT LEVEL: UNKNOWN
Gin didn't see it.
He only felt the truck's engine begin to hum again.
Low.
Patient.
Ready to move.
And somewhere, deep in the system—
The name Apocalypse Food Truck quietly entered the world's memory.
The moment the last stick was sold, the truck changed.
The warmth that had filled the kitchen slowly withdrew, like a creature curling back into itself. The grill dimmed. The lights softened. The engine's hum dropped to a low, steady rhythm.
It felt—
Alive.
Gin watched as the side panel slid shut on its own, metal folding inward with a slow, deliberate hiss.
The Apocalypse Food Truck closed up like a sleeping monster.
The crowd outside stopped.
Some survivors stared in disbelief.
Others reached out instinctively—too late.
The truck was already sealed.
DING!
A new system message appeared, bright and unavoidable.
[SYSTEM NOTICE]
10% OF DAILY SALES WILL BE DEDUCTED TO MAINTAIN FOOD TRUCK PRODUCTIVITY.
Gin blinked.
"Wait—ten percent of what?"
Before he could finish the thought—
DING! DING! DING!
The chimes overlapped, sharp and urgent.
[URGENT MISSION]
SYSTEM WILL NOW OPEN THE SIMULATION SPACE.
Objective:
Practice the newly acquired recipe.
Condition:
The system will evaluate the food cooked by the host.
Clear Requirement:
Achieve S-Rank rating.
Failure:
Host will remain trapped in subspace.
Gin's blood ran cold.
"…Remain trapped?"
The kitchen lights flickered.
The walls blurred.
"Hey—wait—!"
The world folded.
Simulation Space – Alchemical Kitchen
Gin staggered as solid ground reformed beneath his feet.
The surroundings were familiar—but wrong.
The kitchen was pristine. Perfect. Every surface spotless, every tool aligned with surgical precision. The air smelled neutral, empty of life.
No windows.
No exit.
Floating before him—
A massive translucent panel.
[SIMULATION MODE: ACTIVE]
Recipe: Stir-Fried Monster Meat
Evaluation Standard: S-Rank
Attempts Remaining: Unlimited
Time Flow: Isolated
Gin exhaled slowly.
"So I can't die," he muttered, "but I can't leave either."
The system offered no reassurance.
Instead—
Ingredients appeared on the counter in neat rows.
Monster meat—different cuts.
Alchemical oil.
Crushed cores refined into powder.
Herbs pulsing faintly with mana.
Gin stared at them.
This time—
The instinct wasn't complete.
He knew the basics.
But the depth?
That had to be earned.
He picked up the wok.
The moment his fingers wrapped around the handle, feedback flooded his senses.
Heat tolerance.
Timing.
Balance.
But also—
Mistakes.
Every wrong angle.
Every second too late.
Every imbalance of flavor and energy.
Gin grimaced.
"…This is brutal."
He started cooking.
The first attempt—
Too much heat.
The system responded instantly.
[RATING: C]
Reason:
Vitality preserved, energy flow unstable.
Gin clenched his jaw.
Again.
Second attempt—
Better heat. Poor cut.
[RATING: B]
Reason:
Texture acceptable, alchemical integration incomplete.
Gin wiped sweat from his brow.
Again.
Again.
Time lost meaning.
He cooked.
Failed.
Adjusted.
Each failure etched understanding deeper into his bones.
His arms moved faster.
His senses sharpened.
The smell changed.
On the final attempt—
The wok sang.
Not audibly—but resonated.
The oil shimmered with perfect balance. The meat danced, absorbing heat and mana in equal measure. When Gin plated the dish, it pulsed softly, alive but controlled.
The system paused.
For the first time—
It hesitated.
[EVALUATING…]
Seconds stretched.
Gin held his breath.
[RATING: S]
The kitchen lights warmed.
The oppressive stillness lifted.
[SIMULATION CLEARED]
Host proficiency increased.
Recipe Mastery: Stir-Fried Monster Meat (Basic)
Gin slumped against the counter, chest heaving.
"…That's insane."
The world blurred again.
As reality reasserted itself, Gin found himself back inside the food truck.
Night had fallen outside.
The city hub was quieter.
The truck remained sealed—resting.
But Gin felt it now.
The bond.
This wasn't just a system.
This was his territory.
His kitchen.
His battlefield.
Gin straightened, eyes steady.
"If this is the price of survival," he said quietly,
"then I'll cook until the apocalypse runs out of monsters."
The engine hummed in response.
And somewhere, far beyond the city walls—
Something ancient turned its gaze toward the Apocalypse Food Truck.
Gin hadn't even fully caught his breath when the system chimed again.
Not loud.
Not urgent.
Just… inevitable.
DING!
[SYSTEM NOTICE]
Host, a portion of collected monster cores will now be deducted.
Purpose: Host Enhancement
Status: Mandatory
Gin froze.
"…Deducted?" he echoed. "Wait—how much is a portion?"
The stack of monster cores on the counter—payment from the day's sales—lifted slightly, as if tugged by an invisible hand.
Before panic could rise—
The cores shattered.
Not violently.
Not explosively.
They dissolved into fine motes of light—red, gold, and faint traces of violet—streams of raw energy drawn toward Gin's chest.
"—!"
He staggered back as the energy entered him.
There was no pain.
Instead—
Pressure.
Like his body was a container being slowly reinforced from the inside.
DING!
CORE CONVERSION IN PROGRESS…
Gin clenched his fists as warmth flooded his limbs, deeper than before. This wasn't healing.
This was reinforcement.
His bones tingled, growing denser. His muscles tightened, not growing larger, but more compact—efficient. His heartbeat slowed, each pulse heavier, steadier.
His senses sharpened.
He could hear the faint buzz of the truck's power system.
Smell the lingering barbecue oil in the air.
Feel the vibration of the city beyond the walls.
DING!
HOST ENHANCEMENT COMPLETE.
[ENHANCEMENT SUMMARY]
– Physique: Enhanced (Minor)
– Vitality: Increased
– Core Affinity: Compatible
– Resistance: Mild Corruption Resistance Acquired
Gin exhaled slowly.
"…So the cores don't just buy food."
They became fuel.
For him.
For the truck.
For whatever this system was shaping him into.
Another line appeared—smaller, quieter.
DING!
NOTE: Enhancement efficiency increases with higher-quality meals and rarer ingredients.
Gin stared at it.
Then laughed softly.
"So the better I cook," he said, voice low,
"the stronger I become."
The truck responded with a gentle hum, almost approving.
Outside, the city slept uneasily.
Inside, Gin rolled his shoulders, feeling the strength settle naturally into his body—not borrowed, not temporary.
Earned.
He looked at the closed service window.
"Tomorrow," he murmured,
"I cook again."
Somewhere deep within the system, unseen counters ticked upward.
And far away—beyond Red Zones and dead cities alike—
Something that hunted power began to notice a new source.
Not a warrior.
Not a mage.
But a cook.
And thus, without anyone realizing it—+